


Through the Fire

by Ty_Marri



Series: Stay Still [4]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Anxiety Attacks, Depression, Friendship/Love, Healing, Homophobic Language, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Internalized Homophobia, Kent Parson learning to love himself, M/M, Therapy, learning to love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-29
Updated: 2020-07-04
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:27:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 22,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24975307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ty_Marri/pseuds/Ty_Marri
Summary: Kent wasn't prepared for the fallout of the Falconer's Stanley Cup win and the big Zimmerman-Bittle kiss.
Relationships: Kent "Parse" Parson/Jack Zimmermann, Kent "Parse" Parson/Tyler Seguin
Series: Stay Still [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/805098
Comments: 11
Kudos: 55





	1. Standing in the Dust

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! 
> 
> It's been awhile since I've posted, partially due to this story taking on a life of its own and my own life being a bit of a mess. I began this as a Nanowrimo project in 2017, and as with all great novels, this got away from me. I placed it on the back burner for the better part of two years, writing snippets here and there, never really sure how I wanted to piece everything together. But, here we are three years later, several months after Ngozi completed Omg Check Please! and I am still obsessed with one Kent Parson. This story is completed and will be updated =) 
> 
> This is apart of my series Stay Still, but you don't need to read the other three stories (unless you want to) which reference original characters and Kent's life prior to being in the NHL.
> 
> There are some trigger warnings for this chapter: references to abuse, homophobic language, panic/anxiety attacks, depression.

Kent watched Jack sink the puck into the back of the net in the final seconds of the playoffs, the rest of the Falconers crashed into him, arms flailing around Jack as they pulled him into a celly. A small pang of jealousy lanced through him, and he couldn't help the tiny bit of bitterness color his thoughts as Jack raised the Cup over his head and took his victory lap around the ice. It should have been them winning the Stanley together, not Jack and the Falconers, separated by an ocean of time and broken promises. Kent drained his beer, trying to chase the grim thoughts away. He purposely avoided Swoops' raised eyebrow as he clunked the bottle down onto the table, and ignored Scraps' increasingly anxious glances over Cherie's shoulder.

"I'm fine guys," Kent muttered, turning his attention back to a Carly and Knips who were huddled on the couch with their wives, watching the screen's celebrations. Knips booed and threw a handful of popcorn at the screen, while Poots muttered in Russian clutching his girlfriend closer to him.

Swoops narrowed his eyes at Kent, as Scraps retorted, "Riiiiiigggght."

Kent flipped them off and stood to grab another beer from the kitchen. He opened the door, the cold burst of air hitting him in the face as he sorted through the sudden onslaught of pride, guilt, and sadness that roiled through him.The memory of him lifting his first Stanley flitted through his head, soured by the feelings of disappointment and longing that Zimms wasn't there to share in it. He was pretty sure that he wasn't even a thought for Zimms right now. His grip tightened around the bottle, grateful that the funeral pyre that held his feelings for Jack Zimmerman was mostly embers with the occasional flare up, like now. 

Kent sucked in a breath and exhaled slowly before walking back into the living room, feeling a jab of loneliness as Carly's wife whispered something into his ear that made him laugh. Other members of his team and their spouses milled around, hands pressing against smalls of backs, or gentle pats on the head as they chatted and offered their condolences and well wishes for next season. A part of him ached for those small touches of a partner, someone who knew his bids for comfort without him having to ask.  
A few of the marrieds kids were crashed out on the oversized sleeping bags he bought for nights like this, the day's excitement and food finally catching up to them. His mouth turned downward into a morose smile, the knowledge that he could have had his own family, had he not let fear, and the ghost of Zimms keep him from making a life for himself. 

Mood plummeting Kent resumed his perch on the couch next to Swoops, who was grinning at some smartass comment Scraps had made, probably at Carly's expense given Carly's scowl. The chatter and laughter abruptly died, and Kent glanced up to see Jack kissing his college winger without a care in the world beneath the Stanley Cup. 

Kent froze, a thousand thoughts swirling through his head at once. The beer bottle slipped from his hand only to be caught by Swoops before it hit the floor. Several of his teammates turned to stare at him, open-mouthed and wide-eyed.

_"Good for nothing fucking fag," his mother's cruel voice supplied, "They'll kick you out the minute they find out about you. There's no room for your kind here."_

____

____

Kent blinked rapidly, reminding himself that he was twenty-six years old living in his house in Las Vegas and that his mother was long since dead. Her vitriol opinion about him didn't matter anymore. But shit, this was bad, so so bad. Everything he worked so hard far was slipping through his fingers. Something dark and unrelenting engulfed him, he was falling, and unable to stop. He opened his mouth to speak, but the words died in his throat, black spots dotting the sides of his vision. 

Of course, Carly broke the shocked silence first, "So Zimmerman likes little blonde twinks, huh? Shit, Parser, it's a good thing you couldn't get him to sign with us. Can't believe that the Falconers are okay with having fags in their fucking locker room."

_I told you, didn't I, little fuck up? Said that you would be your own ruin. I said it didn't I?_

____

____

"Shit, Parser, did you know? That why things with you and Zimmerman always were so tense?" Ray chimed in, eyebrow furrowing as he attempted to put the puzzle pieces together. 

"Fuck," Carly replied laughing, "You think the twink fucks him or-"

Do you think they would want someone who takes it up the ass to be their leader? Think they'll still respect you after this? 

"Shut the fuck up, Carlson," Swoops growled, shoving Kent's fallen beer into Scraps' hand. Scraps scrambled to put his own bottle down to hold the one being thrust at him, head whipping around as he attempted to block Kent's face from the rest of the team.

Kent's breathing hitched in his throat, and he could vaguely hear Swoops standing up and telling Carlson off. He had kept Zimms’ secret for the last seven years, not ready to come out yet to his team, not wanting the rumors to gain any traction, and now it was all going to be kicked up again. If Carly could almost link Jack's ex-winger, no boyfriend, to him, that meant the rest of the world who hadn't already figured it out, wouldn't be too far behind. He wasn't ready to be the next out NHL player. He wasn't even prepared to trust another person with himself again. 

Everything he built in the last seven years would be scrutinized to the nth degree, and the reporters would be a nightmare. Management would be all over him, watching him like a hawk, and the beat reporters would question the locker room dynamic with someone like him there. He's had the C for seven years, brought home the Stanley twice, and now, now, because of Jack Fucking Zimmerman, he was standing at the edge of a crumbling cliff.

A hysterical laugh bubbled from Kent's lips, causing Scraps to swivel his attention away from the shouting in the living and back to him. Kent gurgled hysterically, "It doesn't matter how far we are from another, we still fuck up each other's lives." 

Suddenly Scraps was pulling him up by the waist from the couch, saying something Kent couldn't focus on. The cacophony of voices arguing in the room rose, something with glass breaking as it hit the wall-

A lamp crashed against the wall as his mother raged around him, her voice shrill with anger as she screamed, "I gave you life Kent Parson, and this is how you treat me! You've shamed our name! You would have been a disappointment to your father, you fucking cock sucker-"

Scraps tugged Kent away from the living room as Carlson threw a heavy-handed punch at Swoops. Carly's fist landed with the dull thud of skin hitting skin, forcing Swoops to take several steps back. Behind Scraps, Kent raised a hand to his jaw, remembering a long-ago hit that he had received from his mother. Scraps swung the bathroom door open, herding Kent to the toilet seat and dropping him. He hurried to the sink and twisted the faucet on, voice calm as he talked to Kent about something Kent was having trouble tracking. 

"I should be out there," Kent muttered, leaning heavily against the toilet bowl, as he attempted to quiet the thoughts in his head. 

"Swoops is handling it. It's why he's the A," Scraps replied as he maneuvered around Kent, gently resting his hand on the back of Kent's neck before he replaced it with a damp washcloth The cold startled Kent, but gave him something other than his head to focus on, reminding him briefly of being on the ice. The memory of his skates sliding through ice helped ground him, quieting his mother and flashes of Zimms enough to help him re-focus on Scraps' voice. 

Kent hung his head, moving his hands to his face, counting his breath as he attempted to bring himself back to the present. "I'm the captain. That shit isn't tolerated in our locker room; I need to.. Fuck, I think Carlson punched Swoops...I-," Kent faltered for a moment before continuing brokenly, "… there's nothing wrong with what Zimms did. For wanting what everyone else has." 

"No, there's nothing wrong with kissing the person you love after a big win," Scraps agreed quietly, kneeling again before Kent, finger crooked under Kent’s chin to raise his face to meet his eyes. "But there is something wrong with being selfish and not caring about the consequences and impact it will have on other people. You don't deserve the shit-storm that is coming because of him. Again."

Kent sucked in a deep breath like he had just taken a hard check, and leaned forward into Scraps' chest, a small sob wracking his body. Scraps pulled him close, rubbing soothing circles on his back. 

Kent focused on the rumble of Scrap's voice as he continued,”Swoops and I have had your back since your rookie year, Parse. You know how we both feel about that asshole.” Scraps held up a hand to stop the weak protest that died on Kent's lips, "He is an asshole, Kent. He cut you out because you saved his life. Then continued to treat you like shit, sending stupid text messages during your rookie year that fucked you up even more, and then when you asked for something in return, he said some fucked up shit knowing it would fuck you up even more. You put your life on hold for him, because he wasn't ready. Don't think me and Swoops haven't noticed."

"That was my choice," Kent mumbled, tears stinging his eyes. "And it wasn't just because of Jack; you saw how Carly and Ray reacted… we aren't the Falconers, Johnny. Our locker room is pseudo-tolerant because I fought every step of the way for it to be that way, but that doesn't mean it's accepting. They find out about me, it fucks up the team dynamic and management finds out, I'm gone. They'll find some reason about needing fresh blood on the team and replace me with a younger franchise face."

Swoops swung the door open at that moment, a nasty red mark blooming on his jaw, "Everyone's gone. I told them there would be a team meeting tomorrow." 

"Thanks," Kent mumbled against Scraps' chest, squeezing his eyes shut in a vain attempt to pretend that this was a nightmare he would wake up from soon. 

"Kent," Scraps responded sharply, pulling away to look him in the eye, "Management isn't going to trade you because of your sexuality or because the locker room dynamic is fucked up. They'll get rid of the players that are the problem and figure it out. We didn't make it to the playoffs this year because of a slew of bad injuries and shitty coaching. GM's are aware of that."

Swoops picked up the thread of conversation remarkably fast and added, "Parse, I know it feels like part of this decision was just taken away from you by fuck-head. But, if you wanna come out or keep things as they are, that's up to you. We'll support you either way. So'll Lindy. Anyone on the team that has a problem, she'll take care of it. You deserve to be happy and not afraid." 

Kent buried his head back into Scraps' chest, tears spilling onto his shirt. He felt Scraps pull away, and suddenly Swoops was there pulling him into a bone-crushing hug and repeating softly "It's okay. We've got you, we've got you." 

_/ _/ _/  
Kent arrived at Swoops' apartment an hour before the impromptu team meeting, a tray of coffee in hand. He felt emotionally wrung out, and a headache lurked at the base of his skull, threatening to become a full-blown migraine. His eyes, dry and gritty, like sand rubbed in them, were red-rimmed and bloodshot. 

His phone had been buzzing since Zimms' big kiss on national television. Reporters, guys they used to play with from the Q, management, PR, all asking variations of "Did you see this? Did you know? What are you going to do?"

Kent hadn't responded to anything other than PR, scheduling meetings for damage control, and giving generalities on how what he wanted to say to the media, which was whatever PR thought was best at the moment. He knew he was being handled, and he couldn't shake the annoyance that had Jack kissed a woman on center ice, this wouldn't be an issue. Unless the woman was also a carbon replica of Kent, then there might be the same amount of speculation. 

Kent adjusted the coffee tray in his hand, the other raising to knock on the door. Swoops opened it, immediately plucking his coffee from Kent, groaning, "Oh, thank fuck." 

Kent gave him a brittle smile and pushed past him, depositing the rest of the coffee on the counter. Scraps bounced over and pulled his cup from the tray, sniffing it appreciatively before taking a swig. Kent raised an eyebrow before sipping his own, though it tasted like ashes as it washed down his throat. He forced himself to swallow it because he needed some caffeine to get him through this clusterfuck. 

"Bro," Swoops began, pausing to take another swig of coffee, "You need to call Lindy."

Kent grimaced and took another sip of his coffee and sighed, "Is she mad?"

Swoops choked, sputtering as Scraps energetically clapped him on the back. Coughing, he replied, "Nah, worried. She almost called the cops to check on you last night when your phone started rolling over to voicemail."

"Oh," Kent responded in a small voice, unsure how to feel that his general manager thought this would be enough for him to do something drastic. Then again, she had also been around his rookie year, so her worry wasn't entirely unfounded. 

He swiped past all the notifications on his phone and pulled up Lindy's contact, while Scraps and Swoops scrambled around in the kitchen while they waited for Kent to finish his phone call. 

Lindy answered on the first ring, with a breathless, "Hello, Kent?"

"Uh, hey, Lindy. Sorry, I didn't get to your phone call last night, I, uh-" 

Lindy cut him off, "I already spoke to Jeffery. I think having an informal team meeting is a good idea. I just wanted you to know that you have the full support from Aces management, whether you want to confirm or deny any of the rumors ."

Kent pulled the phone away from his ear and stared at it for a minute, mouth dry as he eloquently responded with, "Uhm, I- I-"

Lindy's soft exasperated sigh echoed in his ear, "Kent, you've always had management's support. I thought you knew that. I never wanted you to feel that you had to hide who you are. I'm sorry that you felt that you needed to. I thought that we had made that clear your rookie year."

"No, you, uh did, and thank you,” Kent stuttered, "I just, I just wasn't ready. Still not ready for any of this, but I guess there's no avoiding it now, is there?"

Lindy's voice hardened as she replied, "Unfortunately not. Some pictures of you and Zimmerman from the Q have resurfaced, and the speculation is rather unpleasant." 

"Shit," Kent breathed, "What are our options?"

"You need to call PR again for the details. They've been working on various statements since last night," Lindy replied immediately, "But, ah." 

"What else?" Kent responded, hands clutching the counter, the coffee roiling in his stomach, and he could feel the acid working its way back up his throat. 

"Bob Zimmerman has called management several times. He'd like to speak with you," Lindy replied, and Kent could tell by the edge in her voice that particular conversation had been quick and pointed. "He wanted to check on you and offer his advice during this media storm." 

Kent croaked bitterly, "So nice of him to give a shit seven years too late."

"Fuck Bob Zimmerman," Swoops called from the stove, "Fucker just wants to make sure his son is presented in a positive light because heaven forbid Jack Fucking Zimmerman fall from grace again." 

"Ahem, " Lindy interjected, before Swoops could go on a rant about Bob Zimmerman,” I expressed as much to Bob Zimmerman, with slightly more colorful language. You have no idea how long I've wanted to do that, Parson. You've helped me fulfill a dream I've had since before you came to the Aces." 

Tears stung Kent's eyes as the overwhelming support of his found family hit him. His general manager told Bad Bob Zimmerman to fuck off. He wasn’t sure that anyone else would be able to say the same. "Oh, Lindy, upper management is going to be pissed."

"Upper management wants their star player to be happy, and anything Zimmerman related threatens that. I believe I will be receiving a standing ovation and possibly a cake at our next meeting, "Lindy replied breezily, and Kent heard clacking on the other end of the line as she typed something into the computer. "I'll schedule a meeting for us to discuss what you decide as well as any issues that may result from this meeting I know nothing about."

"Roger that," Kent answered, some of the heaviness in his heart dissipated just enough that he felt like he could breathe normally again. Whatever the fall out headed his way, he was going to be okay. "And uhm… thank you, Lindy. For the support now and, uhm, from before."

The clacking of keys ceased, and Lindy was silent for long enough that Kent nervously picked at the edge of his abandoned coffee cup. He wondered if he had somehow crossed the line and referenced something that neither of them acknowledged before now. 

"Kent," Lindy's voiced wobbled," You're like family to me. You've faced an unimaginable set of circumstances, and I've never forgiven the Zimmermans for adding to that. You don't need to thank me for anything.”

Kent smiled wanly, "I know. Text me when and where we're meeting. I'll be there."

Kent ended the phone call and shuffled into the living room where Swoops and Scraps had migrated to, bowls of chips and pretzels on the coffee table. Swoops, clutched his cup of coffee close to his face, feet propped on the table, while Scraps had flung himself onto the couch, poking Swoops with the tips of his feet. The tv buzzed in the background, some random episode of Modern Family, as Scraps made grabby hands at Kent to sit next to him. Kent plopped down next to Scrap's head, unsurprised when the other man shifted on the couch to rest his head on Kent's thigh. 

Kent's thoughts drifted toward Bob Zimmerman, the small plume of anger flaring back to life. He swiped through the notifications that he had steadfastly ignored the night before, to find that there were four text messages and two missed calls from Bad Bob Zimmermann. 

He knew the narrative that the Zimmerman's told, where he was the villain in Jack's story. The boy who pushed and prodded the weakest parts of Jack. The boy who failed Jack by not asking for help before the overdose, the boy who dared to fall in love with Jack and refuse to let go. Jack was blameless in his part of the relationship, a revisionist history, where Jack overcame his inner demons, and Kent was still plagued by his. 

Kent was pulled from his thoughts as Scraps threw his feet in Swoops' lap, demanding, "Foot rub! I demand a foot rub. You know how conflict stresses me out!"

Swoops' threw Scraps feet from his lap, only for Scraps to place them right back. Swoops sighed and threw his hands in the air, deliberately avoiding placing his hands anywhere near Scraps' feet. 

"Swwwoooops," came the childish whine, "I can't be the supportive alternate captain if I am stressed out and worried about our illustrious captain's integrity!"

"Illustrious captain? Did Cherie get you another word of the day calendar?" Kent chirped, kicking his own feet onto the coffee table. 

"For your information, I read," Scraps replied imperiously, sticking his nose in the air and wiggling his feet on Swoops' lap.

"Yeah, learn to read superhero books," Swoops mocked, reaching around Scraps feet for the remote.

"Oh, come on!" Scraps cried, "That was for my niece's birthday!" 

"Uh-huh," Kent drawled, snorting as Scraps threw his head on Kent's lap, muttering, "I can too read." 

Swoops flicked the television off and grimaced when the remote smacked him on his jaw's bruised side. "Alright, we have a half-hour before the rest of the team gets here. What's the plan? Parse?"

Kent pressed his back into the sofa, rubbing his face with his hand as he attempted to reduce the brewing headache. "We are gonna emphasize homophobic and derogatory language that was used last night won't be tolerated in or out of the locker room. We are going to show our support for the Falconers and Zimms-Zimmerman. Uh," Swoops raised an eyebrow at the name correction, lips pursing to comment, but seemingly choosing better of it. Kent flicked his eyes toward Swoops, settling on the bruise, "And attacking members of the team due to differing beliefs will find them having a conversation with management immediately."

Scraps whistled lowly, "You know Carlson is going to be a problem, right?"

Swoops rolled his eyes at Scraps, gesturing to his face, "You think?"

Scraps poked Swoops in the thigh with his toe and commented, "I would love to be in the room when Lindy gets a hold of him. She's scary as fuck when she's calm."

Swoops grimaced, sending a sideways glance at his phone as if merely mentioning Lindy and Carly's name in the same sentence were likely to summon a cranky phone call. The three men paused and waited for a second. 

When the phone didn't ring, Kent continued, "What about Ray and Knip?" 

Swoops huffed a sardonic laugh, "Ray's confused because he doesn't understand why this is such a big deal. He's more worried that Zimmerman tried to do something "untoward," his word, not mine, and vowed to defend your honor during our next game."

Kent blinked several times as that bit of information processed in his brain. His nose scrunched up mouth opening and closing a few times before settling on, "What?"

Scraps, on the other hand, was laughing so hard he fell off the couch wheezing. "Aw, our baby Fin is gonna defend his cap's honor."

"And Knip?" Kent continued, mentally filing away that information to discuss with Ray later. Mostly in the, please don't punch Zimmerman in the face and he could defend his own honor, thank you very much, sense. Scraps climbed back onto the couch, still chuckling at Kent's expense. 

Swoops grimaced, "He might be a problem. He started spouting some pretty offensive stuff after Scraps pulled you out of the living room. Olivia wasn't having it, seemed pretty pissed, but my French is shit. They left right before Carlson threw the punch." 

"Macky, Prongs, and Wendy will be fine," Scraps ticked off as he resettled on the couch. "Most of the team seemed more surprised than anything."

"So, just Knip and Carly are probably going to be a problem?" Kent recapped, trying to calm the sudden queasy feeling as the team meeting loomed closer. 

"Eh. Some of the older vets may be an issue. Not sure about Beau or Zellers, but we'll deal with it," Scraps replied, punching a fist into his open hand. Kent rolled his eyes because Scraps could be such a brute when he wanted to be. Swoops pushed Scraps feet off the couch, the lower half of his body collided with the floor with a light thud. Scraps glared at Swoops, who raised his eyebrows and cocked his head to the side toward Kent. Scraps shrugged his shoulders and squinted his eyes in response. Kent glared at the two, crossing his arms over his chest as he waited for them to finish whatever conversation they were having. Swoops narrowed his eyes at Scraps, slumped in defeat, twisting his body around so he could see Kent.

He rubbed the back of his head with a hand and mumbled, "Ah... you and Zimmerman.... whatcha gonna tell the guys?"

Kent hugged his arms tighter to him, collapsing in on himself and slumped into the couch, trying to create as much distance between him and his two friends. "Guess I'll confirm he's an ex if it comes up. Not like I can do much to avoid the shit storm coming my way." 

Despite his attempts to make himself smaller, Swoops managed to pull him into a hug and muttered into his hair, "I swear to God, I'll fight everyone in the fucking league over this."

Scraps came around to the other side of Kent, throwing his arms around them. Scraps chin rested on the top of Kent's head, much like an older brother would. "And I reserve the right to punch any Zimmerman I see on the ice," Scraps crowed happily, and Kent snickered despite himself.

"Sure man, have at it," Kent muttered, shutting his eyes and missing the surprised looks Scraps and Swoops were giving him. 

Scraps mouthed "progress" at Swoops, who nodded in confirmation as he stared at his exhausted and disheveled friend. Swoops jerked his head toward the kitchen, and Scraps obediently followed him, snagging the empty coffee cups along the way. Kent leaned his head back on the couch with closed eyes, inhaling slowly and letting the breath out in short bursts. 

Scraps tossed the cups in the trash and leaned against the kitchen counter, folding his arms across his chest. Swoops mirrored him, glancing over the nook to make sure Kent had stayed in the living room. 

"Well, at least he isn't defending Zimmerman any more," Scraps quipped, "but I'm not sure if that's a good thing or a 'I'm about to spiral' thing."

Swoops frowned, "Think it depends on what happens in the next twenty-four hours, but regardless we're treating this as a code red."

Scraps nodded, eyes darkening with worry as he glanced at the clock. "I'll text Cherie and let her know. I explained a little bit when I got home last night, but she had just gotten off work. Should we text Chazzer and Segs? They were around the last time the shit hit the fan."

"Yeah… Segs'll probably get a hold of one of us soon regardless…." Swoops scrubbed a hand over his face and sighed. "I fucking hate the Zimmermans."

"Me too, bro, me too."

_/ _/ _/

Carly sat, hunched in one of Swoops' kitchen chairs, sneering at anyone who glanced at him. Knip sat to Carlson's left, shoulders taut as he folded and refolded his arms across his chest. Every few minutes, he would glance at Carlson and then the door, foot-tapping a steady rhythm. However, Ray was perched on the chair closest to Kent and kept beaming up at him like they were sharing some sort of private joke, while Macky and Stewie shoved another on the couch. Beau and Zellers had the hundred-yard stare of men who would rather be home with their wives and kids the day after watching another team winning the Stanley. At the same time, Loony and A-1 murmured amongst themselves furtively glancing toward Kent every few minutes and going back to whispering.

Fish perched himself besides Swoops and Scraps face impassive as they waited for everyone to settle. Kent couldn't help but notice that Mats and Bucky choose the seats farthest away from him at the edge of the room, angled toward Carly and Knip, and wondered if the locker room dynamic had already begun to hit the fan. 

Swoops stood in the center of the room, leaving Kent slowly picking his way through the crowd to stand with him. Scraps seamlessly slid into the spot to Kent's right, bracketing Kent between himself and Swoops. He folded his arms across his chest and stared out at the team before him.

"Alright, most of you watched the playoffs. For those of you who didn't, and we will be having a conversation about being a self-respecting hockey player later, the Falconers won the cup. Jack Zimmerman also kissed his boyfriend on national television," Swoops paused here, jaw twitching for a second, hands bouncing at his side. The team fidgeted in their seats, shifting body weight or staring past Swoops. A few members glanced at Carly before resuming their previous staring. 

Carly sneered in response to Swoops, "I don't see why we have to have a fucking meeting about it. Unless Parse has something to say, like he's been sucking Zimmerman's cock since juniors."

Fish's shoulders tensed, eyes narrowed into a glare as he stared at Carly, almost as if he was willing Carly to say something else. Kent had seen grown men flinch and choke on the ice because of that stare. Carly glared back in challenge to Fish. Knowing that a fight loomed if he didn't interrupt, Kent clenched one hand into a fist to help ground himself. 

Ignoring Carly's barb, he cut in, "We're having this meeting, because although this does not directly affect the Aces, the Aces do not condone the homophobic language used last night or now, Carlson. That said, I'm not going to force you to support Zimmerman, but no one from this team will go out of their way to harm him because of his sexuality. His boyfriend, like the rest of the WAGS, is off-limits chirping material. I will make sure that you skate suicides until you puke if I or anyone else on the team hear it. Management will fully support me in any punishment I see fit."

"Oh fuck you, Parse," Carlson snapped, jumping to his feet, as he puffed out his chest and squared his shoulders. "You're doing this to cover your ass."  
Knips snorted as he leaned back in his chair, mouth upturned into an ugly sneer, "I'm not following a fucking fag as my captain."

The room erupted in a cacophony of various "Shut the fuck up, Knips!"   
"Jesus! What does it matter if Parser likes dudes or not?" It's none of your fucking business."

Kent inhaled sharply, throwing his arms out to stop Swoops, who had started to walk toward the two, hands balled at his side for a fight. He didn't see Fish cross the room to the two assholes, and spun around at Knip's startled yelp. Fish held him an inch from the ground by his shirt, speaking very softly in Swedish. Knip's face paled rapidly, arms suddenly up in a retreating gesture, leaving Carlson standing on his own. Carlson, who had some sense of self-preservation, stepped away from their angry goalie, only to be boxed in by Macky and Stewie. 

Scraps yanked Carlson away from Mackey and Stewie before any blows were thrown, and Swoops grudgingly stepped back toward the center of the room. Kent cleared his throat loudly, the tension rising with each breath. 

Beau was pushing Zellers back into the kitchen chair as Loony watched the proceeding with raised eyebrows. His head swiveled to Buck and Mats, who had slowly inched their way toward the door.

"You boys better sit down," Loony commanded, and the wide-eyed rookies didn't move away from their escape route. 

"Everyone settle down!" Kent shouted, ignoring the thrum of anger coursing through his veins at the chaos unfolding before him. "Carlson, shut your fucking trap. Fish, sit down, you aren't punching Carlson."

"But he deserves it," Fish grumbled, sending a withering glare in Carlson's direction. He untangled his fist from Knip's shirt, shoving him back into the chair as he stalked back to his seat. 

Kent pinched the bridge of his nose, snapped, "Backy, Mats, get back here. I'm not done."

Backy held his hands up in surrender, "Look, Cap, me and Mats don't care who you're dating-"

"Or not dating," Mats chimed in not so helpfully, as Backy rolled his eyes and continued, "Doesn't change the fact that you're our captain."

Mats shrugged his shoulders as the rest of the team stared at them and added nonchalantly, "Yeah, man, like, whoever you end up with is cool with us. If you're happy, we're happy, which makes the team happy." 

Backy nodded along to Mats oversimplification and surprisingly supportive statement. The two defensemen lumbered back to their seats, although Backy made a show of flipping Carly and Knip off, before flopping down into his chair. 

Slightly disoriented, Kent made a mental note to make an effort to spend more time with the two rookies, as they appeared to be smarter than he had previously given them credit for. 

Scraps cleared his throat, drawing Kent's attention back to the matter at hand. "Okay, first of all, this is getting way off track. The point of this meeting isn't to speculate whether or not Zimmerman and Parser were a thing back in the day, let the tabloids do that. The point-"

Kent suddenly found his voice, despite the dryness that coated his mouth. "The point of this meeting is to remind all of you of Aces' etiquette, which includes not assaulting your fellow teammates."

Kent gave Knip and Carly a pointed look. Carly stared icily at Kent, Scraps, and Swoops, the muscles around his mouth tense and working like he was attempting to keep his mouth shut. Knip avoided Kent, his eyes firmly planted on the floor ahead of him. 

Swoops added quietly, "Basically, all etiquette still stands. If you can't follow those terms, then management will enforce them. Scraps and I back Kent all the way on this one."

Carlson sneered at Kent, opening his mouth to say something that would undoubtedly be as offensive as the rest of homophobic ire that had spilled from his mouth in the last half hour, but Zellers headed him off by saying quietly, "Carlson, Nordhall, leave."

Carlson snapped his mouth shut, shouldering his way past Mackey and Stewie, who purposely rooted themselves to the floor to be as immovable as possible. Knip slid out of the chair, casting a glance back at Fish, arms waving a bit in his haste to leave the room. The door clicked quietly only to slam in their wake, still vibrating on the hinges. 

Kent resisted the urge to collapse in one of the empty chairs, but by the way, the rest of the team were avidly avoiding looking at him, he knew they noticed the shaking. Scraps slung his arm over Kent's shoulders, and Kent cast him a grateful smile. He wasn't entirely sure what his face was doing at the moment, but he was pretty sure his mouth was fixed into some sort of grimace. 

Kent sighed, shaking Scraps off him as he squared his shoulders to face the rest of his team, his brothers, and asked grimly, "Are there any other comments or concerns that need to be addressed, or are we good?"

Loony glanced up from his phone, sending a brief glance around the room and replied, "There was never a problem, Parser."

The rest of the team murmured agreement, even though Kent hadn't actually confirmed anything about his sexuality. Seeing that no one else seemed to be offended by the subject of the meeting, Swoops forced Kent to sit in the chair next to him.  
  
"Food's on the way. Stay or go, up to you. Drinks are in the fridge," Swoops announced, turning toward the rest of the room. 

Ray bounced up and down on the balls of his feet, spitting rapid-fire Finnish at A-1. A-1 nodded his head, eyebrows lowered, and mouth pursed as he continued to listen. Kent closed his eyes, too exhausted from the emotional whiplash of the last two days to even deal with whatever those two were planning. From the side-eye, Loony was giving the two every few words, Kent suspected that he was better off not knowing. Kent squeezed his eyes shut, the whisper of his mother's voice viciously wrapping around him. His chest constricted as her voice became louder, everyone around him seems to speed by him, but he felt stuck in the chair he was in, moving slower than everyone else. His brain kept spitting thoughts at him, bubbling up, drowning out everything else around him. 

_I've messed everything up. This is going to end my career. This is it, Carlson is going to go to management, and Lindy's gonna have to back him. She's already got the 'Parson, I'm sorry this isn't working out speech drafted, and I'm going to go UFA. Fuck, fuck, fuck…._

____

__

Beau startled Kent mid panic attack, hand smacking on his shoulder and his rough voice, surprisingly gentle. "Parse, we' ave your back."

Kent breathed out again, and thought maybe, maybe this will turn out okay.   
_/ _/ _/  



	2. In the Middle of the Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kent copes with the media aftermath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello there again! 
> 
> Thank you so much for all the kudos and comments! I really appreciate them and I am glad that you like the story this far! 
> 
> Some trigger warnings: thoughts of suicide, mentions of abuse, and panic attacks.

After days of multiple meetings with management, PR, dodging Bad Bob, and vicious speculation about his life from reporters, Kent finally had a moment of reprieve.

He sunk into his sun-faded, but comfortable cushions of his outdoor couch, pulling a worn handmade quilt over his lap, chilly even though the night was tepid. He watched lights blink on and off in the distant hotels, flickering like a lighthouse warning before extinguishing for the night as the occupants went out to explore Sin City. He wondered if they were finding what they were looking for here. 

Kent absentmindedly sipped his beer, wondering if he would ever find that feeling of contentment he had when he was Jack and the Zimmermans. He came close with Mrs. F, whose dinky, rundown apartment never failed to smell like anything but sugar cookies on a cold winter day. Even though she didn’t have much, she gave Kent everything he could ever want. Kent closed his eyes, imagining himself back in New York in their broke down apartment filled with threadbare furniture and handmade quilts that staved off the chill of the winter months. Kent sighed, pulling the quilt over his arms like armor against the current nuclear fallout he was wading through. 

Kent couldn’t fault him for kissing Eric Bittle on center ice; for wanting to share that that precious, intimate moment with the person he loved without worry for a few precious minutes. Shit, he would do just about anything to find that kind of love, to find that kind of person that could make Kent feel like he finally could put down some roots.

Kent did fault him for picking another man that looked exactly like him that sent the reporters turning over every stone they could, including dragging Mrs. F into this media nightmare. Kent shuddered a breath, exhaustion scraping over him. He wanted Mrs. F here, to hold him like she used to when he was younger and having a bad day. God, he missed her. If she was still alive, she’d know exactly what to say to him. 

Tears pricked at the corner of his eyes, and he snuggled deep under the quilt. “Wish you were here, Mrs. F,” he whispered, throat constricting as he struggled not to cry, “and maybe you could tell me what the fuck I am supposed to do about Bob Zimmerman and the media and teammates that hate me for being different.”

A slight breeze answered him, though a small smirk played on his lips as he remembered her previous response to anytime Bob Zimmerman was mentioned.

_“Hun, I know that man was like a father to you, but he can kindly go fuck himself and the horse he rode in on,” she had hummed to him over the phone nine months after Kent had been drafted._

_“Mrs. F!” Kent had gasped, both horrified and amused by his surrogate mom’s use of the word fuck. He was rubbing off on her if her language was anything to go by._

_“Don’t “Mrs. F,” me, “she had retorted, “Nobody gets to hurt my son and not hear my two cents about it. Let me tell you if I ever see that man and his son, the words I’ll have for them both will make a sailor blush.” ___

__Kent smiled wistfully at the memory, though it still didn’t help him decide what he was supposed to do with the media and the stupid, exhausting feelings that came with this entire situation. Everyone that mattered supported him, but there was a profound difference between being supported and unconditionally loved like Mrs. F had._ _

__He scrubbed his face with the heel of his hand, attempting to force the weariness that had seeped into his bones away. He was so tired. Tired of getting better and taking two steps backward. Tired of being lonely and afraid of what was going to happen next. Tired of losing the people and the things he loved. Tired of hating and doubting himself and having to fight for his right for happiness at every turn._ _

__Briefly, he wondered if this is how Jack felt right before he overdosed, the weight of the world sitting on his chest, suffocating him until dying felt like the only option. Kent stared at his balcony, imagining for a moment at how easy it would be to accidentally fall, the ground rushing up to meet him. Kent shook his head, pulling the quilt over his head like a small child trying to hide from the monsters beneath the bed._ _

__Although, if he did die by falling off his balcony, at least his mother would finally be proud of him because he would have lived up to her expectations. He really would be good for nothing, throwing away his perfect life because of “fag things.”_ _

__He really needed to move back to the house, because he was starting to not trust himself with the thoughts floating through his head. He forced himself to stand, draining the beer in one gulp in an attempt to quiet the buzzing beneath his skin before stepping through the slider door. Kent rested his forehead against the cold glass for several moments before curling up on the large couch that smelled faintly of stale beer and chips. Kent flicked the television on, snuggling deeper beneath the quilt as he unlocked his phone and scrolled through his Twitter._ _

__His eyes ghosted over the tweet of support directed toward Jack and Eric, and the thousands of comments that had flooded in over the weeks he had been media silent. The phone cursor blinked at him, waiting for him to tweet something, and Kent wondered if anyone that mattered would even see what he was tweeting before the internet trolls turned it into something else. His mind drifted back to the balcony and idly wondered what his body would look like splattered against the dirty sidewalk._ _

__@therealKVP90 I miss the days when life was still permanent_ _

__Kent put his phone down onto his chest, eyes drifting listlessly to the flickering images on TV._ _

__His phone vibrated with a notification from @tseguin91.  
Last I checked, bein alive was pretty permanent. #HockeyPlayerNotPhilosopher_ _

__@therealKVP90 Who said anything about being alive?_ _

__Taking a deep breath, Kent shoved his phone under one of the couch cushions, afraid that he would tweet something that would later get him in trouble. Kit lapped the tears that slid down his face, and he wondered how long it would take the reporters to dig past Mrs. F and find the woman that rotted his heart from the center. It really would be the trifecta of a perfect shit storm._ _

___Gay, Jack Zimmerman Scandal, and former poverty-stricken abused nobody: The Kent Parson Story _, he thought a bit hysterically__ _ _

____The Zimmermans were just another rotted branch rooted to the sickness that lived inside him. He was always bad at choosing people to trust, and the reporters were going to tear his life apart, one carefully laid brick at the time. They were going to find his roots and raize them to the ground, leaving him with nothing to rebuild from. There was no hiding from who he was now, no closet to turn back to, no warm arms to hold him and protect him from the abuse that was already being thrown his way._ _ _ _

____Deadspin was questioning his ability to captain, especially since this was the third year that they failed to even make it into a playoff spot. Fans had quickly turned, some quite literally showing up with picket signs to rage in front of the arena, even in the offseason. Men he hadn’t even slept with were coming forward and saying whatever they wanted about him to anyone who would listen. Pictures of him and Jack sitting a tad too close to being “just friends” gained traction on the internet._ _ _ _

____He had worked so fucking hard to make sure that he never ended up on the wrong side of a scandal, and here it was, dropped in his lap with no preparation. He had no fucking idea what to do, and it had little to do with the fact that his sexuality was being splashed all over the papers. No, because everything in his life either circled back to Jack or her._ _ _ _

____He could hear her again, screaming that she never loved him, that he would never amount to anything, phantom lashes from an empty liquor bottle ghosting his skin. She was going to come back, just like this thing with Jack did, and he wasn’t ready for any of this._ _ _ _

____At least fucking Jack had someone to weather this clusterfuck with; the worst of his life had already been written about at length. Kent pushed himself off the couch, unable to sit still any longer. He needed to do something, anything, to escape the thoughts in his head. Flashes of Jack saying the same thing crippled Kent, forcing him to his knees, as he willed himself not to remember the bathroom and the pills that littered the floor like little tombstones._ _ _ _

____He bolted to the kitchen, yanking the drawers from the cabinets, searching for anything to help him settle the buzz that pooled beneath his skin. He grabbed spatulas, wooden spoons, and ladles, tossing them to the floor, unsure what he was looking for, just knew that he needed to keep moving. Suddenly, the drawer was empty, his fingernails scraping the bottom, and in a fit, he jerked it off the track tossing it against the tile floor._ _ _ _

____He stared a the broken drawer, images of his and his mother’s apartment flashing before him. Damaged containers, empty beer bottles, and mice making the gross mildewed boxes their kingdom. Memories of trying to step over the disaster, trying to be quiet as to not wake the monster passed out on whatever surface she found. He was never successful. She always woke, and the beatings that ensued left bruises that were indistinguishable from hockey._ _ _ _

____Kent jerked another drawer open, sending utensils flying, hands scrabbling past butter knives and corkscrews that clinked to the floor. He moved onto the cabinet above him, to his ceramic coffee cups lined perfectly on the shelf._ _ _ _

____He was hit with another memory, one of him and Jack in the Zimmerman’s kitchen that last Christmas before the draft. Zimms pressing him against the counter, chin resting atop his head for a moment before pulling down two bright red coffee mugs for the annual Zimmerman hot chocolate/movie tradition._ _ _ _

____He grasped a red mug in his hand, startled when the mug was empty and cold. He turned it over in his hands, resisting the urge to smash it against the floor, and inhaled sharply._ _ _ _

____He closed his eyes, chasing away the memories for a minute and reminding himself that he was in Vegas, in his condo, and that he was physically safe despite the current events. No one could hurt him here, except him. He squeezed his eyes shut even tighter because he needed to transfer this hurt to something tangible and away from him._ _ _ _

____He gripped the mug tighter, forcing himself away from the wreckage of his kitchen. He set the mug down, red like Christmas with Jack, red like his mom’s favorite sweater at Christmas, the last moments of happiness before everything fell apart. He wiped his face with his hand and inhaled shakily before deciding to go back to the living room and away from anything sharp._ _ _ _

____Kent snatched his phone from underneath the couch cushion, the phone vibrating incessantly in his hand. His screen lit up with multiple phone calls and increasingly frantic text messages from Segs. Kent wavered over Segs number, knowing that he should probably tell him that he wasn't okay, but not to worry when Bad Bob’s name popped up._ _ _ _

____Kent stared disbelievingly at the phone, fingers curling around it in anger. His finger hovered over the answer button, twitching, unsure what he was going to say if he answered it. Logically, he knew that he was not in a place to answer this phone call; Kent knew that the conversation he needed to have was both long overdue and would be a tipping point for him._ _ _ _

____A bitterness snaked through him as he stared at the still ringing phone, a nasty voice reminding him that the Zimmermans had abandoned him when he needed them. Other than years of polite media congratulations, there had been no word from the people that once called him a son. While he had let a lot of that go, today, the hurt coiled within him._ _ _ _

____The call ended, only to start ringing again. Impulsively, Kent answered, barking out a short, “What?”_ _ _ _

____Surprised silence trickled through the line before Bob managed to recover himself, voice calm with forced warmth. “Ah, Kent, I was hoping to get a chance to speak to you-”_ _ _ _

____“Save the bullshit. Why are you calling?” Kent snapped, freezing in front of his couch as he dug his fingers into his thigh. He really shouldn’t have answered the phone._ _ _ _

____Bob exhaled, and Kent could hear Alicia murmuring something he couldn’t quite make out in the background. “I was just calling to see how you were doing. I know that… this has had some negative impact on you-”_ _ _ _

____“I’m fine,” Kent snapped, hunching his shoulders to make himself smaller, like that would protect him from this conversation._ _ _ _

____Bob paused again, and Kent itched to hang up the phone. “I know we haven’t been on the best terms-”_ _ _ _

____“You know what, Bob,” Kent hissed, fingers digging even deeper into his thigh, “You and Jack are more alike than you think. Fuck you. I don't owe you or him anything. I respected his wishes, and like always, he didn't respect mine. So, fuck you, fuck him, fuck this whole goddamn situation.”_ _ _ _

____Kent flung the phone into the opposite wall, watching in satisfaction as spider-web cracks formed in the plaster from where the phone hit. He stared at the hole, at his home, falling limply to the floor, gasping for breath. He wrapped his arms around his middle, cradling himself, as the knot in his chest threatened to choke him._ _ _ _

_____/ _/ _/_ _ _ _

____“Jesus fucking Christ, Kent, open the goddamn door,” Scraps bellowed, banging his hand against the door. He paused for a few seconds, running his hand through his hair. “Kent Vincent Parson, I swear to God, if you don’t open this door right fucking now-”_ _ _ _

____Scraps kicked the door with a frustrated grunt before slamming his hand on the door more fervently. Swoops skidded around the corner phone was pressed against his ear as he tugged up his ratty basketball shorts. He tossed a key ring at Scraps while muttering into the phone about being at the condo. Scraps caught the keys and shoved Kent's key into the lock._ _ _ _

____Scraps shoved the door open as soon as the tumbler turned, sweeping through the entryway, glancing wildly around for Kent. Scraps stopped abruptly at the sight of the destroyed living room, throwing his arm out to catch Swoops as he crashed into him. Heart hammering in his chest, he scanned the room quickly, but Kent was not amongst the destruction. Swoops pushed past Scraps and to the kitchen, cursing getting louder at whatever he found in there._ _ _ _

____Scraps flung the door to the bathroom open and breathed a sigh of relief that Kent wasn't dead on the floor. He stormed down the hall, wrenching doors open as he did so. Upon finding every room empty, he ran back to the living room, stopping short as he noted Swoop’s pale face._ _ _ _

____“Is he-” Scraps faltered, not sure how to finish the sentence._ _ _ _

____Swoops inhaled sharply and muttered, “Kitchen is destroyed. He’s not there.”_ _ _ _

____A tinny voice shouted from the speakers of Swoops’ phone, “Balcony!”_ _ _ _

____“Shit,” Swoops muttered, already striding towards the glass door. He yanked the door open, the glass shaking in the frame, as Scraps noted the hole in the wall and pieces of the broken phone scattered on the floor. Swoops remained in the threshold of the slider, Scraps nearly running into him._ _ _ _

____“What? What are you seeing?” the phone demanded, and Scraps forgot for a moment that there was someone on the other line. Swoops handed the phone to Scraps, and waved his hand at the two of them, before cautiously inching his way out to the balcony. Scraps hovered at the doorway, slowly raising the phone to his ear, heart yammering into his throat._ _ _ _

____Empty pill bottles were scattered all over the ground. The outdoor furniture tossed upside down, cushions were strewn everywhere.  
Kent himself was perched on the edge of the railing, legs swinging back and forth as he gazed over the city, hands gripping the railing tightly. _ _ _ _

____Swoops inched forward, making sure to make noise as he tentatively called, “Parser?”_ _ _ _

____“WHAT IS GOING ON?” the phone exploded, and that in itself snapped Scraps out of his fear-induced stupor._ _ _ _

____“Uh, hey-”_ _ _ _

____“Jesus fucking Christ on a cracker, Scraps, what the fuck is going on? Is Kenny okay?”_ _ _ _

____“Segs,” Scraps breathed, “Uh, he’s on the edge of the… Swoops is going to talk to him.”_ _ _ _

____“Put me on speaker, now,“ Segs demanded. Scraps numbly followed Segs direction, eyes never leaving Kent and Swoops._ _ _ _

____“Kent?” Segs questioned softly, momentarily catching Scraps off guard. This was the side of Segs that he had never heard of before, and this whole situation was making his head hurt._ _ _ _

____Kent took a shuddering breath but didn’t verbally respond to either of them. Swoops inched his way behind Kent, and Scraps realized what he was about to do. Scraps laid the phone down on one of the overturned chairs, quietly picking his way through the destruction. Swoops jerked his head toward Kent, miming wrapping his arms around him. Scraps nodded, body tensing as he prepared himself to grab whatever part of Kent needed._ _ _ _

____Segs voice carried across the balcony, “Kent, dude, I’m on my way to Vegas now, but I need you to listen to Scraps and Swoops, okay? This is just a bad night. We’re going to get through it, just like we did before.”_ _ _ _

____“Not this time, Ty,” Kent’s voice cracked, pulling one hand away from the railing. Swoops lunged, wrapping his arms around Kent’s middle. Swoops pulled him back over the ledge, as Scraps grabbed Kent's legs and pulled him over the edge. Kent twisted in Swoops' grip, bucking his hips and legs. Kent’s foot caught Scraps in the face, and he grunted from the force of the kick, as he readjusted his grip._ _ _ _

____The three fell to a heap on the ground, Swoops immediately wrapped his legs around Kent’s thighs, pinning him into place. Scraps kneeled on the ground, hands firmly around Kent’s shins, keeping him held in place. Kent struggled against them, attempting to kick his legs out, fingers scrabbling for purchase against the rough ground._ _ _ _

____Segs continued to talk calmly through the scuffle, either ignoring the thud of bodies on the ground and hoping for the best or simply trusting that the other two had everything under control. “-and things always look clearer in the morning.”_ _ _ _

____Kent stopped struggling for a moment, body going limp against Swoops. Both Swoops and Scraps kept their grip on him, not trusting Kent to not break free._ _ _ _

____A sob wracked Kent’s body as he stuttered, “He… He… called. He called. And he just… he just… wanted something.”_ _ _ _

____Scraps froze, the tendril of anger that had started, blooming into a full-fledged rage. Swoops grey eyes turned flinty, and Scraps bit his bottom lip to remain silent._ _ _ _

____Segs paused, and Scraps could hear him inwardly counting to ten before asking, “Zimmerman?”_ _ _ _

____“Not Jack,” Kent hiccupped, and this time Segs swore loudly. Kent attempted to curl up on himself, but Swoops and Scraps held him tightly, still not trusting him not to bolt over the rail if they let him go._ _ _ _

____“Kent,” Segs began evenly, causing Swoops to turn his head wide-eyed. Scraps felt Kent tense beneath him, and his stomach plummeted. Whatever Segs had planned after this, probably wasn’t going to end well, given the sudden tone change and the distinct sound of something being slammed in the background. “Bob Zimmerman maybe a hockey legend, but he’s a shit human being. You owe him and his fucked up kid nothing, especially right now. Scraps, Swoops, I’ll be in Vegas by 7 a.m. Keep him safe, please.”_ _ _ _

____“Wait!” Swoops managed, as Kent rallied to protest, “Where are you flying in from?"_ _ _ _

____“Canada,” Segs replied vaguely, and Scraps could picture the airy hand wave._ _ _ _

____“Where in Canada?” Swoops asked through gritted teeth, though Scraps suspected that he knew the answer already._ _ _ _

____“Gotta go, boys. Kent, you still there?”_ _ _ _

____Kent grunted in response, though he stopped struggling between the two men._ _ _ _

____“We’re gonna get through this, okay? I’ll see you soon.”_ _ _ _

____The phone was suddenly silent, leaving Scraps and Swoops to communicate with their eyebrows over Kent’s prone form. Scraps eased up on Kent’s legs, body coiled and ready to spring back to hold him if he needed to. Kent didn’t kick at him, which Scraps considered a win at this point._ _ _ _

____“Okay, Parser,” Scraps murmured lowly, “Me and Swoops are gonna help you up and go to the living room, okay?”_ _ _ _

____“Bedroom,” Kent muttered, drawing his legs to his chest._ _ _ _

____“Okay, bedroom,” Scraps said, as Swoops slowly unwound himself from Kent’s body. Kent didn’t move a muscle, except to turn his head into Swoop’s chest. Swoops felt Kent’s warm breath against his chest, and the front of his shirt was dampening with his tears. Swoops wrapped an arm around Kent, almost like he was holding one of his kids._ _ _ _

____Scraps went to Kent’s other side, cupping the blonde’s face and bringing his forehead to Kent’s. There weren’t really any words that needed to be said at this point. Tears silently slid down Swoop’s cheeks as he held Kent tighter, and he swore that the next time he met Jack Zimmerman on the ice, he was going to make him hurt as much as he had hurt Kent._ _ _ _


	3. Is There a Way Out?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Segs arrives. There is a lot of talking.

Segs let himself in with his key in the early hours the next morning. He glanced at the kitchen's wreckage and noted the broken hole in the wall before purposely striding toward Kent’s bedroom. Segs peered through the open door to reveal three exhausted hockey players strewn across Kent’s bed. 

Segs knew from the text updates he had been getting until he boarded, and after he deplaned, that most of the night had been spent watching all of Kent’s favorite Disney movies. Kent had told them in fits and starts, what led up to this breakdown. Segs had never felt a deep hatred for either Zimmerman until now. He knew, rationally, they were all responding off emotion, but Kent was a good guy, and he deserved better than the shit life continued to hand him. The texts petered off around four, which Segs figured was about when they had fallen asleep against the ongoing loop of Moana. 

Segs leaned against the door frame for a minute before walking back to the kitchen. Tucking the phone between his ear and shoulder, he listened to the endless ringing as he picked up unbroken dishware, avoiding the jagged edges of broken plates and coffee mugs. 

Lindy finally answered with a frazzled, “What do you want?” 

“Just wanted to let you know that Parser is alive. Scraps and Swoops are here,” Segs replied, placing bowls and plates in the kitchen sink. He inspected a bowl with a particularly vicious crack running through it and wondered if it was salvageable. 

“I know. Scraps called Katie last night,” Lindy exhaled, but Segs could hear her chair's creak as she leaned back in relief. “How bad is it, Seguin?”

“Ah, looks like it’s worse than 2011 and 2014 combined,” Segs replied, ultimately deciding that the bowl wasn’t long for this world anymore. “Bob Zimmerman called him last night. It just added to everything with the reporters, Carlson, old wounds, and stuff.” 

The line was silent long enough for Segs double-checked to see if he had actually lost her, but saw the seconds still ticking by. Segs dragged the trashcan over to where most of the glass and ceramic lay and tossed them into the trashcan. 

“I see,” came Lindy’s even reply, and the calmness of it made Segs stop in the middle of his task. 

“Yeah,” Segs agreed, slamming the broken shards into the trashcan harder than he intended. He idly wondered how he became the responsible adult in this situation as the pieces tinkled as they bumped into another and broke into even smaller shards. “Is there media speculation about the tweets? How much damage control do I need to prepare him for? Can he leave Vegas?”

“Nothing on the tweets yet, I think we may be okay on that front. He needs to see someone or go somewhere to get help, maybe get away from Vegas for a little while.”

“Got it.” 

“Seguin,” Lindy began, voice trailing off for a moment like she had lost her train of thought, “I’m going to help run interference the best I can… and I say this as a friend and not as a GM, I want him to be okay.”

Segs ran his hand over his face and wondered how the hell he somehow ended up being the emotional keeper for Kent Vincent Parson. “Yeah…. Yeah… me too. We’ll figure something out.” 

Segs hung up the phone and finished sweeping the remaining glass into the trash can. He wandered out to the living room and collapsed onto the couch. He adjusted the pillow behind his head, closing his eyes for the first time in twenty-four hours. 

Segs jolted awake, flailing his arms as a hand roughly shook his shoulder. Cracking an eye open, he peered blearily at Swoops, noting the dark circles and pushed himself up into a sitting position. 

“Hey man,” Segs greeted, stretching his arms up over his head as he sat up, wincing as his back popped in multiple places. Swoops smirked a bit and slid into the space Segs had vacated. Swoops scanned the living room, noting that most of the mess from the night before had been cleaned up. Swoops let his head drop onto the back of the couch, rubbing his face again with hand. Shifting his weight, Segs threw his arm around Swoops and pulled him into a hug. Swoops settled slowly into his chest, tucking his head against Segs' shoulder. 

“I got’chu,” Segs murmured, tightening his arm around Swoops. Swoops sagged against him even more and muttered, “How the fuck did the two of you get through this the first time? I feel like someone just scraped sandpaper over my body and then chucked me into a vat of lemon juice.”

Segs glanced down at Swoops, pursing his lips as he huffed a laugh, “That was graphically specific. Is that something that happens in Vegas a lot?”

“Fuck you, Segs,” Swoops responded woodenly, “And you didn’t answer my question.”

”We had Mrs. F and Katie and some Aces vets that weren’t dicks.They had him stay with their Captain at the time. Katie didn’t trust him to be alone in Vegas,” Segs replied, eyes squinting at the far wall, before shrugging his shoulder a bit, “And we forced him to spend time with me and the fam in Ontario every break the Ace’s had. No phones, internet, social media. Seemed to help.”

Swoops pulled away from Segs, turning to look at him seriously for the first time since he plopped on the couch. Segs leaned his head back on the sofa and closed his eyes, gritty eyes as a wave of exhaustion washed over him. He felt the couch dip as someone else collapsed onto the cushion next to him, and Swoops disentangled himself from the couch and sauntered toward the kitchen, snatching the coffee pot from the coffeemaker and flicking on the water. 

Segs cracked open an eye and found that Kent had curled on the other side of him, purposely angling his body away from Segs so that they weren’t touching. Segs slid a hand on Kent’s thigh, causing Kent to prop himself onto his elbow, blue eyes wide and wary. Segs flopped his body on top of Kent’s side, who squirmed beneath him into a more comfortable position. 

“You okay with me touching you, Parser?” Segs asked as Kent shuddered beneath him. 

“Yeah,” Kent murmured, “You know, as long as you aren’t afraid of the fag cooties.”

Segs froze, biting his lips in anger at the comment, before checking himself, “Well, it’s a good thing I already have the cooties then, huh?”

“You shouldn’t be near me,” Kent whispered, eyes averted from Segs, refusing to look at him, “You shouldn’t be here. I’m poison to everyone I am near.”

Segs pulled himself into a sitting position and stared at Kent, trying to tamp down on the irritation and frustration he felt toward the whole situation. He tugged Kent to a sitting position and slid off the couch, kneeling in front of Kent. Kent’s head hung low, and he refused to look at Segs. 

“Look at me, love,” Segs cajoled, waiting until Kent finally complied and glanced at him. “I am here. I will always be here, and nothing you can say or do will push me away. You are not poison. You never have been.”

Tears slid down Kent’s face again, and he struggled to turn his face away from Segs. “I want to go, Segs. I want to go. Please. Please let me go. I can’t do this anymore. I can’t. I can’t, I can’t, I can’t-“

Segs wrapped his arms around Kent, pulling him into his chest, caressing his head softly and shhhing him. “I’m right here. You’re right here. I’m not going to let you go. We are going to stay right here until you’re okay again. Do you hear me, Parser?”

Kent barely nodded his head against Segs' chest, and Segs squeezed him a little bit closer to him. Swoops hovered by the arm of the couch, unsure of what to do or how to help. 

“It’s going to be okay,” Segs continued to murmur, shaking his head at Swoops. Swoops walked back toward the kitchen, quietly pulling down unbroken coffee cups to pour what he was pretty sure may be considered tar at this point. Swoops settled down at the kitchen table and watched Segs hold Kent until Kent finally exhausted himself. Segs gently leaned him back onto the couch, making sure that he laid down as comfortably as possible. He glanced around the room, pulled the spare blanket, and covered Kent, double-checking that he was asleep. 

Swoops poured Segs a cup of coffee, sliding it to him as he sat down. Segs sighed loudly, pulling the cup closer to him. The two sat across from each other in silence, Segs absently sipping his coffee. 

“So, how do you and Parse know each other? He’s never said. Actually, I didn’t even know that the two of you knew each other, as well as you, did,” Swoops asked, placing his coffee mug on the table. 

Segs sucked in a breath and let it out in slow bursts, his free hand jittering on his leg, before he replied softly, “Parser and I played together in juniors, always got along pretty well, but, you know Parse. Never tells a lie, and it’s more about what he doesn’t say.”

Swoops hummed in agreement and made a carry on gesture. “Anyway, after Parse was drafted, I made sure to make an effort to stay in touch, cuz, that’s some heavy shit, right? I must have proved to him I wasn’t going to fuck him over, Parse deemed me worthy of a drunk midnight phone call from some seedy pub in Boston in the middle of my draft year. From the way he was talking, I was sure he was going to jump off the Tobin. Fuckin’ nineteen years old, man-”

Segs pause, shaking his head slightly and continued, “Found him in a snowbank near some lake, half near frozen to death. Next day, he said he just drank too much and not to worry about him, he was living the life, which I knew was bullshit, because fuck, if I wasn’t feeling the same at that point, and off he went raising hell and bringing the Aces home the Cup that year…”

Swoops murmured, “I got traded over to the Aces during the 2011 run.”

“Fuck 2011,” Segs grunted, pinching the bridge of his nose, “Zimmermann…. Man, and I tried so fucking hard because we were all fucked up kids just trying to figure out how to live in this fishbowl, right? But, every time Kent played in Boston, it was like he was being flayed alive. Playing against him was awful; he’d look at you like you weren’t even there, and then he’d spout some of the most vicious psychological warfare I’d ever heard. There were times that I think he purposely wanted my team to go after him. Afterward, he’d smile and joke around like everything was fine. I always had this hollowed-out feeling in my gut, ya know? Like I was going to get a phone call from Katie or Mrs. F saying that he finally succeeded where Zimmerman didn’t. “

“Shit,” Swoops muttered, “I didn’t even realize that was what was happening. All I saw was this cocky teenager tearing it up on the ice. Thought he was just some hot-shot kid that got to skip the feeder team.”

Segs shrugged and continued, “You weren’t the only one who didn’t realize what was happening. And then I got caught up in my own bullshit… I should have been better for him. More of a friend, but I figured what the hell, there’s other people there to look after him. After the Aces lost to us in game seven, I was so elated, it was our first cup, the high from that win was just like…. There was nothing else, except me, the boys and the Stanley. I didn’t hear from Parser for a couple of weeks, which was a tough loss, so that didn’t surprise me much, and if I’m being honest, I wasn’t really paying too much attention to him, you know. We just won the fucking Stanley, and we were doing the parade and partying, and I finally felt like I made it somewhere, you know? Like maybe all the other shit with the team was worth it since we managed to accomplish this one thing.” 

“I think anyone of us would have been focusing on all of that,” Swoops replied, wincing at the rumors that had swirled around Segs during that particularly nasty Stanley win. 

Segs scoffed a bit, shaking his head, his eyes unfocused on the rim of his coffee cup, “Yeah, well, the cup run ended around the same time classes at Samwell were finishing up. Guess Zimmermann invited Parse over there to recoup from the loss for old times sake…. Kent has a thing for heights when he’s upset, you probably figured out. Managed to make his way to the tallest building after Zimmermann lost his shit with him, blaming him for the overdose, taking over what should have been Zimmerman’s. Kent called me. I was nowhere close to getting to him, and Mrs. F was at least six hours away."

"Shit," Swoops breathed, eyes widening as he slowly pieced together the odd disappearance of Parser after the 2011 loss.

"The only person whose number I actually had was Scraps and I didn’t even know if like, anyone on the team knew just how deep this shit with Parser went or if Scraps was even in Boston. He was, thankfully. Said he wasn't too far away from Samwell and to meet him there. By the time I got there, Parser was wrapped in a bunch of blankets and sitting in a car. Scraps had Zimmermann by the scruff of the neck. Don’t know what he said, but ah, Zimmermann’s friend Shitty was trying to placate everyone involved. I just slid into the car next to Kent and held him. Scraps and I spent weeks making sure he went to therapy, doing a makeshift suicide watch at my place in Boston before we took him back to Ontario.” 

Segs stopped and took a deep breath, glancing over at Kent one last time, almost as if reassuring himself that he was still there. “It was a rough offseason.”

Swoops grimaced at the understatement and replied softly, “He’s had bad days here before. Nights where he’s called Scrappy or me because he didn’t trust himself to stay alone. I’ve never seen him this bad. I don’t… I don’t know how to help him.”

“We help by being here for him. Making the tough calls if we have to, even if we know that he wasn't going to like it and will fight us every step of the way. His therapist told me once that sometimes just having someone there is more help than anything,” Segs replied, glancing up as arms wrapped around Segs' shoulders. 

“Thank fuck you’re here,” Scraps muttered.

Segs rolled his eyes and shot back, “I can’t fix this.”

Scraps dragged a chair from the table, ignoring the screeching and the winces from the other two at the table before he flopped into it and snagged Swoop’s coffee from him. “No, but you can help. We don’t know what the fuck we are doing, other than devising a plan to accidentally target Zimmerman next season for putting everyone through this.”

“Because that wouldn’t be marketed as homophobia against the first out player in a predominately heterosexual male-dominated sport,” Segs responded dryly, taking another sip of coffee. 

Scraps mouth ticked into a feral grin, “Watch me give zero fucks.”

“Knock it off, Scraps,” Swoops replied, “We need to come up with a plan, one, that gets him out of Vegas and away from the media and the speculation.”

Segs rubbed his hands together and grinned, “That, my friends, is something I actually came prepared with.”


	4. Let Me Be Your Shelter

__

_Deadspin_

_Trouble in Sin City?_

_  
In the week following the Falconer's hard-fought Stanley Cup win and the Zimmerman/Bittle kiss, many teams and players have expounded their support for the two. However, the Ace's Captain and former winger, Kent Parson has been surprisingly silent, not even retweeting the canned message of support from the team's social media account. There continues to be massive speculation that the exact reason behind the Zimmerman/Parson feud actually stems from a lover's quarrel after Zimmerman overdosed before the 2009 draft._

__

__

_Many fans have taken his silence as an admission of internalized homophobia or guilt over the events of 2009. Other fans further theorize that Parson was responsible for Zimmerman's overdose, by threatening to out the both of them before the 2009 draft. While the Zimmerman family has been outspoken that Jack suffered from mental health issues, specifically with anxiety prior to the overdose, Parson's ever-looming threat of outing them before they made a name for themselves could have contributed to Jack Zimmerman's fragile mental health. ___

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_The Ace's front office refused to make a statement regarding these rumors and are quoted as saying, "We are not here to discuss the personal lives of either Kent Parson or Jack Zimmerman. " ___

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_Deadspin has also attempted to reach out to Kent Parson himself; however, he was unavailable for comment, which is also unusual for the ordinarily boisterous personality we have come to know. ___

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_To further the unusual events following the Zimmerman/Bittle kiss, it has been reported by a reputable source close to the Ace's franchise that the team is questioning Parson's ability to lead as a result of this incident. Many teammates are uncomfortable with having a player who identifies as non-heterosexual and the implications that now surround Parson's personal life. ___

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__

Kent whimpered as he set his IPAD down, unable to finish reading the article. He was supposed to be sleeping right now because Segs apparently was taking his babysitting duties seriously and had planned out a whole scheduled regime for them. He was also supposed to be on a "electronics cleanse," which meant that Kent had to sneak his own IPAD from the room that it was locked in. 

Kent glanced at the IPAD again, the words of the article spinning through his head. He should have jumped four nights ago. He would have died, and then none of this would have mattered. He wouldn't be a burden to anyone anymore. Not Segs, Swoops, Scraps, even the Zimmermans…. 

Kent wrapped the blanket he was in around himself tightly, squeezing the air from him. A strangled sob escaped him, loud and echoing in the quiet, dark room. Zimms was happy with his little boyfriend, and he was just going to keep being shit on. 

Tears slid down his face, hot and salty. Everything about him felt heavy right, if he jumped now, he would surely plummet like a stone to the ground. It would only hurt for a second, but then it would be over.  
He was too tired to move from bed though, the bed warm and zapping him of any energy that he could have. 

A small sliver of light cut through the room, and Segs popped his head in, heart sinking as he saw Parse curled into a blanket. 

He padded across the room, hovering over the bed for a moment, before sliding in next to Kent. Segs rolled onto his side, pulling Kent close to spoon him. 

"I need to go," Kent whispered, voice ragged and raspy, "Please let me go."

Segs' arms tensed around him, but he didn't let go and instead pulled him a little closer without suffocating him. "Where are you going?"

"I just need to go, please let me go."

"I can't do that," Segs whispered, words soft against Kent's hair. 

Kent pulled away, unable to be held any longer. His eyes darted around the room, noting the door and the window, the clothes haphazardly littering the floor. He needed to get away from this place, this room, this feeling of everything and nothing all at once. He didn't realize he was on his feet and halfway across the room until Segs darted in front of him, beating him loomed in front of him, blocking his path to the door. 

"Move," Kent demanded, hysteria edging into his voice as he tried to sidestep Segs. Segs remained planted firmly in front of the door, arms hanging limply at his side, as unthreatening as possible.

"If I move, where are you going to go?" Segs murmured, watching Kent's face shuttered. 

Kent balled up his hands and shoved them into his face. "I….I….just need to get out. Go for a walk. Away, just go away."

"Go away, where?" Segs questioned patiently, and God, Kent hated that voice, hated that he was the one who was making Segs use it, hated that he had made his family so worried that they were camping in his apartment with him. All three of them should be with their families, not with him. He wasn't really their family. He was just another hockey player that people took pity on, like now. 

Kent shoved Segs, in an attempt to force him away from the door, but Segs only rocked a bit from the force. Kent pushed him harder, sending Segs slightly off-balance, and seeing his chance, he threw his whole body weight onto Segs. Segs fell to the ground with a soft thud as Kent wildly yanked on the door handle, eyes frantically trying to find a way out in the dark hall ay. He ran unseeing, using his hands to guide himself out, blood thumping in his chest. He could hear his mother, see the ugliness of her chapped and peeling lips, turned downward as she scowled at him. 

_"I should have had the abortion when I had a chance," she hissed," Fucking worthless. If it weren't for you, I could have been something. Threw it all away for a perverted sniveling waste of space." ___

__Kent gasped, abruptly coming to a stop as he felt Segs arms wrap around him from behind, arms bracing around his chest. Involuntarily, he felt noise escaping from his throat, shrill, and high pitched. Words fell out of his mouth in a nonsensical babble._ _

__Everything around him started to sway, and he just needed to escape. He strained against Segs' arms, pressing against them as hard as possible, trying to escape. Segs flexed his arms, strengthening his hold on Kent, refusing to let him go. Kent sagged in his arms just for a moment, and Segs guided him to the floor. He wrapped his legs around Kent's waist and locked his feet in front of him like a harness. Kent struggled against him, bucking his body up and throwing his back into Segs' chest, his skull hitting Segs collar bone repeatedly. Segs hissed, but continued to hold Kent, despite Kent digging his fingernails into Segs' forearms._ _

__"I am not letting you go," Segs murmured, "I'm here, and we are going to get through this."_ _

__"Please, Tyler," Kent croaked, the tears hot and salty down his face, and he felt so exhausted like he was nothing more than skin scraped over bones. "Please. I don't want…. I don't want to do this anymore. I don't want to be this anymore. Let me go. Please, please, please, pleasepleasepleasepleasepleaseplease-"_ _

__"I'm not letting you go," Segs repeated, resting his head against the wall with a thunk. "You are worth the world, Kent. You are worth being here, with me, with Swoops, and Scraps and the Aces. You deserve good things. You have good things. You have your family here. You have hockey. You have Kit. You have me, and I will sit here with you until you're safe, until the sun rises, until you get through this."_ _

__Kent snuffled and sagged into Seg's chest, and slowly his arms fell from Seg's forearms. He bounced the back of his skull against Segs shoulder bones a couple more times, emitting a high guttural sound, before just giving up, focusing on the warmth of the arms around him as he attempted to block out the noise in his head. His mother's voice, the vicious chirps on the ice from the guys that had come up with him and knew the headlines from the various news sources, the tweets, and media coverage. He squeezed his eyes shut and focused on his back being against Segs' chest and the rumble as his voice vibrated against his skin._ _

__Segs felt Kent start to relax against him, but he refused to let go or lessen his grip. Instead, he continued to whisper to Kent all the things that he felt Kent deserved to hear, reminding him that there were people who would fight for him, even when Kent was unable to fight for himself._ _

__

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___/ _/ _/_ _

_  
_

__Scraps found the two leaned against the hallway wall several hours later. Segs' head leaned against the wall, neck cricked at an angle that was surely going to hurt later, snoring loudly as his arms curled loosely around Kent. Kent curled up in Segs' lap, face relaxed for the first time since the playoff series ended._ _

__Cherie came up behind him, her hair thrown into a messy bun, with a few strands tailing from it. She peeked around his side, a fond smile on her face as she saw the two. Quickly, the smile disappeared, and she said quietly, "It must have been a bad night."_ _

__Scraps muttered, "Yeah. Should we wake them?"_ _

__"Might as well," Cherie replied, slipping past Scraps and gently shaking Segs awake first. Segs startled a bit, disoriented and unsure where he was for a moment. Segs tried to move his legs, realizing with a start that he was pinned down from Kent's weight. He glanced down at Kent, mouth ticking up in a small smile at how peaceful Kent looked, and gently caressed Kent's cheek with his hand. Kent didn't stir, and a part of Segs wanted to keep Kent there with him, allowing him a longer reprieve than the few hours he got. He looked over at the woman at his shoulder, unsure of who she was._ _

__"Scrap's girlfriend," Cherie replied quietly, "I'm here to help out this morning."_ _

__Segs smiled wanly at her and nodded toward Kent. "We had a rough night. He broke IPAD protocol."_ _

__"Of course he did, "Scraps replied dryly. "Glutton for punishment."_ _

__Cherie frowned at Scraps as she kneeled down beside Kent, "Not a glutton… this is a high-stress situation, high stakes situation. He wants to know what people are saying because he wants to know how to protect himself and the people around him."_ _

__"He needs to let management handle this," Scraps replied, "and focus on just getting better."_ _

__"Getting better is in the eye of the beholder," Cherie quipped, gently shaking Kent's shoulder until he cracked open a bleary eye._ _

__"Mmuagh…Cherie?"_ _

__"The one and only. C'mon hun, you need to get up off the hallway floor and eat something."_ _

__"Not hungry."_ _

__Cherie leaned back on her heels, hands to her hips and demanded, "Kent Vincent Parson, I did not ask you if you were hungry, I told you that you were eating something, now get up."_ _

__Kent narrowed his eyes for a moment and petulantly stuck his lip out. Cherie stared at him, waiting for him to make a decision. Kent wilted a little bit at her stare and slowly rolled out of Segs lap. He groaned as his back cracked, and his neck twinged as a crick made itself known. Segs remained on the floor, lolling his head side to side, wincing as it cracked loudly. Kent hunched over on his heels, as Segs bent and stretched his legs to get the feeling back in them._ _

__"'M sorry, Ty," Kent muttered. "I…."_ _

__"Kent," Segs interrupted, "It's fine. Go eat something and make sure you Skype Grace at 11."_ _

__"We'll make sure that he attends the appointment, man," Scraps said as he helped Kent to his feet. "Get some rest, we got it from here."_ _

__Segs lazily saluted Scraps, and Cherie followed close behind Kent, ushering him down the hall and into the kitchen. She busied herself in his kitchen, pulling the coffee from the cabinet and taking large scoops of coffee into the maker. Kent watched from his spot hunched over the table, his head cradled in his hands, staring blankly at the table._ _

__Scraps flung himself into the chair opposite of Kent, resting his chin on his hands. "Hiiiii Kent, whatcha thinking about?"_ _

__Cherie snorted from her spot at the kitchen as she pulled open doors and pulled down various mugs and plates. She set a cup of fresh coffee in front of Kent, about to turn back to the kitchen to find other breakfast items. Kent jerked up as the coffee was placed in front of him and immediately shoved himself away from the table, picking up the mug and hurling it at the wall._ _

__Cherie jumped back as the hot liquid splashed over the wall, dripping to the floor in small rivulets as pieces of the mug clattered to the floor._ _

__Scraps remained at the table, unsure of what to do for the moment before he let out a slow breath, trying to keep his temper in check and under control as he said, "What. The. Fuck."_ _

__"I can't…. With the red," Kent muttered, back ramrod straight against the wall. Cherie had moved back to the table and was already on the same side as Kent before Scraps had the time to react._ _

__"It's okay," Cherie murmured softly, "We won't use the red mugs from now on, can you breathe slowly for me? In one, two, three, out two three. There you go, good job, keep doing it. In, two, three, out, two, three. There we go. You good?"_ _

__Scraps stood to clean up the mess on the floor and the wall, and Kent uttered, "Nah, Scraps, I can….. I can do that. I'm sorry-"_ _

__"Dude, stop apologizing. It's not okay, but now we know, and we will avoid it," Scraps replied, getting up to the kitchen to find a towel and wipes. Cherie watched Kent for a minute before handing him the cleaning supplies that Scraps gave her. She went back to the kitchen and pulled a plain white mug out of the cabinet._ _

__"Are there any other ceramics we should avoid?" She asked dryly as she poured Kent another cup._ _

__Kent shook his head as he wiped the wall down and picked up the larger pieces of broken ceramic before walking over to the trashcan. Cherie busied herself with making the three of them breakfast as Kent finished cleaning, and Scraps resumed his position at the table._ _

__Scraps clapped his hands together, startling Kent out of his thoughts. "Alright, dude, so today we are leaving the fortress of sadness and despair."_ _

__Kent opened his mouth to argue, but Scraps wagged his finger at him and continued, "You are going Skype Grace because Segs already set up the appointment because apparently, he is on a first-name basis with your therapist, but whatever. Then you are going to shower, and we are going to go outside and get some sunshine and out of this place."_ _

__"By the time all of that happens, it's going to be like 112 outside," Kent pointed out weakly, not wanting to really leave his place or deal with people._ _

__"Too bad," Scraps crowed cheerfully, "We are going out, and you, my pasty friend, are going to get some vitamin D."_ _

__"Ugh," Kent whined, "Scraps, I appreciate what you are trying to do, but…. I am…. I just can't go out and see people and be with them."_ _

__Cherie set a plate of eggs and pancakes in front of them, remarking, "Which is exactly why you need to do it. Eat. At least half of that plate. You aren't leaving the table until you do."_ _

__Kent bristled and muttered, "I'm not a fucking child. You don't need to come in here and treat me like one."_ _

__Scraps sucked his lips in, attempting not to let his irritation show. He knew that this is what they had signed up for when Segs had outlined what to expect, but he had forgotten how stubborn and obnoxious Kent could get when he was in a funk._ _

__Cherie responded before he did, unphased by the petulance, mostly he thought because being a nurse meant that she was used to adults acting like children and replied, "If we weren't here, would you eat?"_ _

__Kent avoided looking at her, deciding instead to pick up the fork and absently slice his food into smaller pieces to make it look as if he had eaten more._ _

__"Well?" Cherie asked, pulling another plate to the table and taking a seat opposite of Kent._ _

__"Prolly not," Kent mumbled, eyes fixed on his plate._ _

__"Thought so. So if that means telling you to eat or shower, then that's what we are going to do," Cherie replied softly and placed her hand on Kent's bicep. "Part of this is making sure you stay healthy enough to take care of everything else."_ _

__"I just don't want to be a burden to you," Kent muttered into his food._ _

__"Dude, you aren't," Scraps replied vehemently, "How many times have you been there for me after a bad skid.... or like, the season I dislocated my knee? You've done the same for me. This isn't any different."_ _

__Kent screwed up his nose and kept his eyes low, refusing to meet either of their eyes. He popped some eggs into his mouth, surprised that they actually tasted good and not like ash. He ignored the high-five Cherie, and Scraps gave each other and continued to shovel food in his mouth.  
_/ _/ _/_ _

__Thirty minutes later, after Kent finished an entire plate of food and forced himself to shower, he found himself staring blankly at his therapist. A weight settled on his chest, blocking him from the words that he wanted to say to her. Grace stared back at him, patiently waiting for him to start speaking._ _

__She finally broke the silence by shifting in her seat and saying, "Kent, you know the drill. We can sit and stare at each other for an hour, or you can tell me what prompted this session."_ _

__She paused, noting that Kent averted his eyes and refused to look at her some more. She continued, unphased by Kent's lack of response, "I suppose we could start with the concerning tweets that Tyler sent me three days ago."_ _

__Kent lowered his head even more so that his hair hung in his face. "I shouldn't be this bad again, "he muttered, "You already put in the work on me. I shouldn't…. this shouldn't…. this shouldn't be like this."_ _

__Grace huffed softly, replying softly, "Kent, can you look at me, please? So I know that you are hearing me? Please?"_ _

__Kent moved his head fractionally, eyes catching hers as he nodded slowly at her. She nodded her head at Kent, acknowledging that she saw him and replied, "Mental health is on a continuum. Sometimes our symptoms are very mild and manageable, sometimes they become more significant and unmanageable. That doesn't mean that you're "bad" or "messed up."'_ _

__"Yeah, I 'member, talkin' about that," Kent responded quietly, averting his gaze again so that he was no longer looking at the camera._ _

__"Before Jack Zimmerman outed you, where would you say you were at on that continuum?"_ _

__"He didn't out me," Kent whispered, cradling his face into his hands._ _

__"Okay," Grace agreed, before gently prompting him, "Can you tell me what happened in your own words? What would you call it?"_ _

__"He... won the Cup and kissed the love of his life on the ice.... and then everyone assumed about me and him... and.... yeah," Kent mumbled._ _

__"And yeah?" Grace parroted back to him, "What does that mean, Kent?"_ _

__"People were right, and I couldn't deny it anymore, because, because it would be a lie."_ _

__"Hmm, and if you weren't placed in this position, would you have confirmed what the media and other people believed?"_ _

__Kent shook his head, face still in his hands. His voice cracked on the word, "No."_ _

__Grace's eyes softened as he stated, "Then it sounds like he played a part in outing you if he placed you in a situation that forced you to confirm your sexuality publically when you weren't ready to."_ _

__Tears leaked from beneath Kent's hands, and Grace paused, waiting for him to respond, perched on the edge of her chair. Kent sniffled, his body shaking with sobs he was barely keeping inside._ _

__"I know, Grace. I know that's what it was. It is. I just... I just... I was fine, I was fine before him, before this. I was doing so well and he just... he just... it's always about him. Even now. I just... I shouldn't be here, Grace. I want to leave. I keep trying to leave. I…. nothing I do is ever enough for anyone. Not for Jack, not for my mom, not for the fans…. And he… he just gets everything. Just like always and there…. wasn't any warning. And she. She told me that it would be like this; it's probably the only thing she was ever right about…. and I just, want to get this out of my skin."_ _

__Kent could hear Grace talking, but he had trouble focusing on what she was saying. He knew he was crying, could feel the tears dripping down his face, body shaking with sobs. Grace's calm voice crackled in and out of his ear, like a radio station in between static. "Kent, breathe in, two, three, out, two three. Again, in, two, three, out, two, three. You back with me?"_ _

__Kent did as she instructed, finding the buzz under his skin lessening, and his chest did not feel as constricting. He felt faint and untethered, but Grace's soft voice brought him back to the present. He found himself breathing in time with her instruction, felt himself focusing on his lungs contracting and expanding with each breath, reminding him that he was there and alive._ _

__"This isn't about Jack, remember? This is about how you're being affected. He came out, on national television, without discussing the possible consequences that it would have for other people in his life, which tangentially included you. You have every right to feel scared, betrayed, hurt, and overwhelmed. Now, when you start to feel overwhelmed while talking to me about what happened next, I want you to tell me to stop, and you're going to go back to the visualization of being on the ice, your comfortable and happy spot, okay?"_ _

__"I…. uh…. I can do that," Kent stuttered out, already envisioning freshly set ice int he rink gleaming and waiting for him to set foot on it._ _

__"Okay, and if I think that you can't do that, I am going to stop us, okay?"_ _

__Kent nodded, hiccuping on a breath. "Tell me what you felt when you saw Jack kissing his partner on national television."_ _

__"I felt…Panic. Panic, and like everything was falling apart around me. Then…. Anger and jealous? Or… like…," Kent grimaced, "It was more like, why couldn't it be me? Why wasn't I ever enough for him or…. Well, anyone else? And…. there was…. Like this feeling like I was being stabbed in the heart, like an actual pain. None of it made sense."_ _

__"What didn't make sense, exactly? How you were feeling?"_ _

__"Yes….Well no. It didn't make sense that it hurt as much as it did the first time I went through it. This was like mutually assured destruction if either of us came out. Zimms, that's what he called it at the party I showed up to. He asked me, begged me, to keep his secret, and I know we talked about this after…. That fiasco, but I agreed. I said I would. I just assumed he would do the same for me, or at least talk to me before he did it. I just- I just should have known."_ _

__Grace interrupted Kent when he stopped to take a breath by tapping a pen to her desk and said, " You're shoulding all over yourself, Kent. Are you able to predict the future?"_ _

__Kent smirked a bit at her, before shaking his head slowly, already anticipating her next question. "Then how 'should' you have known?"_ _

__"Because good things don't happen to me, Grace," Kent snapped, throwing his head onto the recliner chair he was sitting in. "Because I shouldn't fucking be here."_ _

__"Kent," Grace replied, concernedly, "you've mentioned a few times that you "need to go" and 'shouldn't be here,' and combined with the tweets, I need to know if you have a plan to hurt yourself. Do you?"_ _

__Kent hated this part of the therapy, where he had to admit defeat, that he was too weak to even get through his own thoughts on his own. He was going to disappoint Grace again. He was going to see her face frown, her eyes light with worry, and she would look like she wanted to the through the screen and hold his hand and tell him everything would be fine. For a minute, he debated about not telling her how bad it was. She would be better off not knowing because then she wouldn't be able to feel bad when he-_ _

__"Kent? I can see you thinking hard over there. Whatever you are thinking, this is a safe place. I want to be in the position to keep you as safe as possible, even if that is from yourself."_ _

__"I don't want to burden you with this."_ _

__"You aren't burdening me. It is literally my job to take on your worries, fears, and feelings and be your container," Grace gently reminded him. She leaned forward in her seat, eyes staring intently on the screen as she watched Kent sink farther from the computer until he was huddled on the chair he was in._ _

__"I…. I think that all this would be easier if I was dead. I don't deserve to be here, because all I do is hurt them."_ _

__"I think you have an entire room of people who would disagree with that statement. They want you to be here, or they wouldn't have reached out for help or let you stay alone," Grace murmured, gently challenging the thought he voiced to her._ _

__"I'm still hurting them," Kent muttered, pulling his knees to his chest like a small child. The dark rings under his eyes were more prevalent now that he was staring in the camera. He stared back at Grace with his wide blue eyes, looking both hollow and like a scared child, unsure of where to go next._ _

__Grace let out a whoosh of breath, and Kent wanted to look away from her, but he also felt like she was his lifeline right now._ _

__"Your friends, they are worried about you, and they don't like seeing you hurting like this. But you, you aren't hurting them. I may not know them, but I think they would hurt more if you died and weren't apart of their lives. Kent, do you have a plan to kill yourself?" Grace steepled her hands in front of her, and Kent could see the worry lines etched by her eyes._ _

__"Right now?" Kent hedged, not wanting to admit to her how close he had gotten, and that he still felt like he was toeing on the edge of that line._ _

__"Yes."_ _

__Kent let out a slow breath, debating on if he should tell her. They had been here before, he and Grace, "I…. I almost jumped off the balcony…. When those tweets came out."_ _

__Grace didn't react, and Kent was grateful for that because he wasn't sure what he would have done if she gasped and then went right into the sympathetic gazes and coos. Instead, she nodded her head perfunctorily and asked, "What stopped you?"_ _

__Kent closed his eyes, as he remembered Swoops and Scraps pulling him back down to the floor and Segs screaming from the phone. How panicked and scared they were. Guilt flooded through him that he was the one that caused them to feel this way. Tears welled in his eyes again, and he sighed, "Scraps and Swoops pulled me from the edge. Segs was on his way."_ _

__"Do you still have that plan?"_ _

__"No."_ _

__"But you still feel like you would be better off dead?"_ _

__Kent nodded and sunk into the couch even lower. If he could disappear, he would, all he wanted to do was hide from Grace and the world._ _

__"Okay. Is there someone there with you right now?"_ _

__"Yeah. Scraps and his girlfriend and Segs. Uh, Swoops is also trading in and out of babysitting shifts. But Segs is staying with me."_ _

__"So, they started a safety net for you?"_ _

__"Yeah."_ _

__"Okay, so here is what we are going to do- I want you to keep your safety net, Segs, Swoops, and Scraps. Segs already emailed me and said that he would be staying with you for as long as you need. We are going to schedule sessions, in-person unless your schedule otherwise changes twice a week, and I want you to text me daily check-ins at 8am, 1pm and 9m. If you start to feel overwhelmed or the urge to die becomes too much, I want you to call the emergency line, do you still have the number?"_ _

__"Yeah."_ _

__"Okay, I want you to use our relaxation techniques that we have been going over to help with some of the anxiety. If it becomes too much or if Segs decides that he can't keep you safe, he is going to take you to the nearest hospital, okay?"_ _

__"Yeah. Do you need a release for Scraps and Swoops too?"_ _

__"If you want them to be a part of treatment, then yes, if not, that's fine too. You don't have to decide now. Are you okay with me sharing this with Tyler?"_ _

__"Yea, that's fine…."_ _

__Grace paused for a moment, her face going soft as she stared at Kent, and her mouth quirked in a comforting smile. "Kent, we are going to get you through this. It is a rough patch, and we know how to get through those."_ _

__Kent smiled wanly at her, "Yeah, we're pretty good at that. I'll text you tonight."_ _

__Grace pointed a finger at him and said, "You better. I will call for a welfare check if you don't, and I will not feel guilty about ensuring your well being."_ _

__Kent laughed, the first time all day and said, "Yeah, I know. Thanks, Grace… for…caring."_ _

__"Of course, Kent."_ _

__

___/_/_/_ _

_  
_

__Scraps stared at him, wide-eyed, lips proofed out into a pout as he laid flopped out on the ground. He prodded Kent in the leg again, which was about the hundredth time since Kent decided to ignore him._ _

__"What?" Kent asked irritably, turning the tv off with a little more force to the remote that necessary._ _

__"I'm bored," Scraps whined, "Let's gooooo do something!"_ _

__"I don't want to do anything," Kent snapped, "Except get drunk and watch television about baking, that has nothing to do with Zimms stupid boyfriend and his stupid pie channel."_ _

__"Weeeellll, getting drunk is not an option, because you have been banned from alcohol per Segs, and I personally, do not want to defy that order."_ _

__"I am an adult, and if I want to drink, I will drink, Segs and the rest of you be damned," Kent groused as he chucked the remote on the couch. The remote bounced off and hit the floor, sending the batteries scattering over the floor. Scraps didn't move from his spot, utterly unfazed by Kent's small tantrum._ _

__"You just threw the remote on the ground like a child," Scraps replied mildly, raising his eyebrows._ _

__Kent huffed and threw himself back into the couch, crossing his arms across his chest. Kent glared at Scraps, irritation rising with everyone that was currently in his apartment. He knew these "rules" were put in place to help keep him safe. Kent knew logically that if his friends weren't there, he would not be making great decisions, but he was also tired of being told what to do._ _

__Scraps watched Kent, as different emotions flitted across his face, his grey eyes becoming flinty in the daylight. He watched as his shoulders tightened and relaxed like they did before a face-off as he let out a slow breath._ _

__Scraps continued to watch him, partially because he knew that Kent would eventually get annoyed with him and give into going out like he wanted him to. Scraps started to count the stripes on the pillow next to him to combat his boredom. He was quite accustomed to out stubborning his captain. He just needed to find one well-placed chirp, and it was all over. Well, sort of all over. He would at least get Kent to go do what he wanted him to._ _

__Scraps counted fifty-two stripes on the pillow before Kent let out another and said, "What did you have in mind?"_ _

__Scraps popped up from the floor, clapping his hands while grinning maniacally. "So glad you got with the program, Parser."_ _

__

___/_/ _/_ _

__  


__Scraps had already picked out Kent's afternoon outfit, as he called it, which is how Kent went out in public with a ridiculous Hangover muscle tank that read "Did Ceaser Live Here" with his favorite pair of black and red swim trunks. Scraps gleefully ushered him into the car, switching on some obnoxious upbeat techno music as he peeled from Kent's driveway._ _

__Kent closed his eyes as he listened to Scraps chatter about his and Cherie's vacation plans before their first conditioning camp. He smiled at how excited Scraps was about taking Cherie out and away from the Vegas heat for a week. He allowed himself to drift away to the sound of Scraps' voice and the car's lull._ _

__Scraps startled him awake a half-hour later by clapping his hands and screaming, "WAKE UP PARSER! WE ARE HAVING FUN!"_ _

__Kent flailed, hands nearly hitting Scraps in the face. Scraps dodged from Kent's flailing fist, cackling as he pushed the car door open. Kent blinked groggily at their location, perplexed that they seemed to be in a parking lot of an amusement park. He glanced around again and caught sight of the tall water slides and groaned._ _

__"Seriously, Johhny? A water park?"_ _

__Scraps wrenched open the passenger door and tossed a beach towel at Kent's face. The towel hit its mark and fell into Kent's lap as he struggled to undo the seatbelt. Once Kent finally managed to get out of the car, Scraps threw an arm around his shoulders and whooped loudly._ _

__"Fun in the sun, baby! The closest thing to a beach, Vegas has to offer!"_ _

__Despite the irritation he was feeling before, Kent felt a smile tug to his lips as he followed Scraps to the park's entrance. Some of the heaviness from his therapy session fell away as he and Scraps made a battle plan for the rest of the day._ _

__Several hours of the water park later, Kent was feeling considerably lighter than he had that morning. He had challenged Scraps to a race down some of the more giant water slides and had won twice, although Scraps maintained that it didn't count because Kent had cheated by throwing himself down the slide two seconds before him._ _

__Some kids had recognized him and Scraps, and the two of them found themselves hanging out with their families in line while waiting for some ridiculous winding and enclosed water slide that stated it was an "extreme slide." Upon finding himself flung down the slide of doom, he couldn't help the thrill of adrenaline plunge through him._ _

__He hadn't done something like this in a long time, and as loathe as he was to admit it, getting out of the apartment was exactly what he needed. He refused to admit that to Scraps, knowing that he would never hear the end of it._ _

__As the sun sank beneath burnt orange skies, patrons of the water park slowly drifted to their cars, leaving the park quieter and empty. Kent and Scraps floated on a massive tube down the lazy river, enjoying the water's ebbing as they bumped along. Kent lifted his sunglasses and knocked Scraps tube with his foot. Scraps twisted to look at him, eyebrows raised._ _

__"Thanks."_ _

__Scraps grinned smugly in return, adjusting his own glasses as he tipped his head back and away from Kent. Kent wanted to hang onto this moment of tranquility for as long as he could. It didn't entirely fix the weight of everything or the unease that still lingered beneath everything, but as of right now, he didn't feel like he was drowning. As the two of them floated down the lazy river, he allowed himself a small amount of hope._ _


	5. Back From the Fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello there! Thank you for all the kudos and comments! I really appreciate them =) Here is the last chapter! Hope you enjoy it.

Kent woke to the lingering smell of coffee, the bed where Segs had laid last night cold and empty. Kent blinked through the fog that had settled in his head, willing himself the motivation to get out of bed. Everything felt heavier this morning, and it was almost too much for him to move.

Kent flung an arm over his eyes, hoping that if he tried hard enough, he would be able to go back to sleep. However, Kit had other ideas as she leaped onto the bed, head butting his hand until he shifted so he could pet her easier. Kit mewled loudly, daintily walking across his arm and settling her full body weight on his chest. She batted Kent’s cheek with a paw and meowed louder until Kent removed his arm from his face and stared at her. 

“Ugh, fine, I’m up, I’m up,” Kent grumbled, gently pushing the cat off of his chest and swinging his legs to the edge of the bed. Kit leaped from the bed, meowing smugly as Kent blearily stumbled toward the kitchen. Kit twined herself between his legs, as he pulled a can of her food from the cabinet and plopped it into her food bowl. Satisfied, Kit ignored Kent and began to chew her food happily. Kent glanced at the coffee pot, idly reading Segs note that he was out for a morning run. 

Kent scrubbed his face again and poured himself a coffee, leaning against the counter, savoring the first sip as it hit his tongue. He pulled his phone from the kitchen charger and steeled himself for the onslaught of text message notifications. Most seemed to be from the team group chat chirping him about a ridiculous Deadspin article. Kent glanced at the title, which insinuated that he and Scraps were secretly an item. Kent rolled his eyes and decided to let PR deal with it. Kent shot back a snotty text to the group chat, knowing it would spark multiple chirps on Scraps' behalf. 

The messages from both PR and Lindy reminding him that his presence at the NHL Awards, made him pause. Irritation slid through him, quick and sharp. He didn’t want to smile and make glib comments, while he still felt raw and cracked down the middle, a cavern that couldn’t be filled. 

The mere thought of being in a room with Jack or Bob made his hands itch, and for a brief moment, he thought about the balcony, how it was right there, and no one was there to stop him. He gripped the counter, the edges biting into his hand. He reminded himself that he was in his kitchen, Segs was on his way back home, that this was just him wanting to escape. He set his phone down on the counter, knowing he should probably text Grace. 

Segs burst through the front door, sweat-stained and flushed, door slamming in his wake. Segs flung himself at Kent with an anguished, "Kenny!" 

Kent stumbled for a second, elbow catching his coffee cup and upsetting it enough for the liquid to spill over. Segs grasped Kent's neck, purposely shoving his head into the large sweat stain on his chest. 

"“How could you do this to me? To Cherie? To us?” Segs continued melodramatically, ignoring Kent as he tried to struggle away from Segs. 

Kent finally pushed Segs off him, his face damp, “What the fuck?” 

“Kent,” Segs began, as he caught Kent again and hugged him to his chest, “I know that we have been separated by time zones and distance, but I only needed you to tell me of yours and Scraps secret love. I would have approved! Dude’s hot!” 

“Why are you reading that trash,” Kent muttered against Segs chest, trying to force his body from not trembling too much against him. He knew Segs was just being ridiculous and refusing to tiptoe around Kent and his moods. Still, Kent couldn't shake the mounting anger that slid through him as Segs continued to talk. 

“Because I have an alert set up every time your name pops up,” Segs replied, releasing Kent and pouring himself a cup of coffee. He shoved a piece of bread in his mouth before continuing, “S’ how I kee’ track of you when you don’t return my phone calls.” 

Kent finally registered what Segs was saying, and he narrowed his eyes at Segs. The latter had moved on to the refrigerator and was pulling out eggs and other vegetables. “You have an alert set up to my name to monitor me? Like a stalker?”

“Uh, no. Stalker implies that I go out of my way to sit outside your apartment and take weird photos of you and Scraps at water parks. Think of it more as baby-sitter protocol.” 

“I’m a grown-ass man. I can fucking take care of myself, Tyler,” Kent snarled, shoving himself away from the counter. He stalked out of the kitchen, only to stop in the living room, crossing his arms across his chest. 

Kent squeezed his eyes shut for a second, forcing himself past the thought that he was worthless and a burden to Segs. It wasn’t true.  
He had known that Segs set up that alert years ago and that Kent had approved it. For some reason, though, it was one more reminder that he wasn’t enough of a person to be trusted by his friends to take care of himself. Another failure in the Kent Parson shit show. That sure as hell wouldn’t be mentioned in any speeches or pictures at the Awards. 

Segs didn’t even pause as he continued to pull down bowls and pans to make breakfast for them, seemingly ignoring the outburst.

“What, are you just going to ignore me now? I didn’t fucking ask you to be here!” Kent demanded furiously, throwing his hands down to his side. 

Segs continued to break eggs into a bowl, tossing the shells back into the carton. Not bothering to turn to Kent, he asked mildly, “Are you done?”

Kent stalked back into the kitchen, snatching the carton of eggs from the counter. He hurled them to the ground, shells, and yolk exploding against the floor with a squelch. Sticky cold tendrils of yolk wrapped around Kent’s bare feet and ankle.

Segs stopped then, cocking his head to the side, as he pushed the bowl of eggs that had yet to be damaged farther back onto the counter.   
Kent, breathed heavily, heart pounding wildly as he glared at Segs. “Fucking leave, Tyler. I don’t need you here.”

Segs, noting Kent’s posture, leaned against the counter and said evenly, “I’m here because I care about you, and you are not doing well. I am not leaving, Kenny, no matter how hard you try to push me away.”

Kent made a strangled sound and threw a fist wildly at Segs, but Segs caught Kent’s arm before making contact with him. Segs held his forearm for a moment, releasing it, but didn't move to square up with Kent. 

Kent stumbled back, breathing hard, frustrated that Segs wasn't rising to the bait. But if there was one thing Kent was good at, it was picking at other people’s weak spots to get him what he wanted. He knew Tyler’s, just like he knew is own. 

Kent wasn’t going to stop until he got what he wanted, even though he wasn’t even sure if this was it. 

Kent growled, “You’re just like me, Tyler, a fuck up that no one wants. It’s why you couldn’t hack bein’ with the ‘Hawks, why you can’t stand to be in a real relationship with anyone; too afraid that they’ll know the real you. Know that there’s nothing underneath that playboy persona, except a bland fucking nobody.”

Segs inhaled sharply, eyes flashing with hurt as his face smoothed into something hard and unreadable. Segs lip curled into a sneer, and Kent watched as Seg's visibly bit down on his lip to prevent himself from saying what first came to mind. 

"Oh yeah, Kenny? That's me, huh? That's not at all what you're afraid of? What you've really been running from all these years?" Segs sniped coldly, eyes never leaving Kent's. 

"Fuck you, Tyler," Kent snapped, stumbling a few steps backward, away from Segs. "Don't pretend you didn't run to me, broken and -"

"I did. I did come to you because I knew you'd get it," Segs said quietly, taking a step toward Kent, almost reaching out to him, but aborted the movement halfway. "And you told me that I couldn't hide from what was happening; that I wasn't broken, remember?"

Kent jerked his head in affirmation, words drying up in his mouth, the fight leaving him as suddenly as it had come. Segs stepped into Kent's space, hand tentatively resting against Kent's cheek. Segs leaned his forehead against Kent's, bringing his other hand to Kent's face. Seg's warm breath tickled against Kent's lips, and Kent grasped Segs' forearms like they were a lifeline. 

"And," Segs continued, "I'm not going to leave you because you're pushing me away. You aren't broken, either, Kenny. "

Kent shuddered and pushed away from Segs with a sound like that of a wounded animal. Kent whirled around and slammed his fist onto the counter. Pain lanced through his hand, sharp and stinging enough, the itch to punch something finally gone. He gasped and hunched over, the counter covering the back of his head with his hands. He inhaled deeply, trying to calm his heart and clear his head. 

The air around him moved, and he could feel Segs behind him, before Segs asked, “What do you need, Kenny?"

"I need you to go," Kent garbled, flinging a hand in a flailed shooing movement. 

"What else do you need, Kent?" Segs asked gently, and Kent could feel the air shift near him and knew that Segs was close, but keeping his distance. 

Kent hunched over more, tears slipping down his face and muttered, "Hold me?"

Segs wrapped his arms around Kent, gently holding his back to his chest. Kent leaned his head against Segs' shirt, hands clutching at Segs arms.   
Kent closed his eyes, trying to match his breathing with Segs, ignoring everything that wanted him to push at Segs to make him leave. 

Once Kent felt less foggy and more centered, He twisted in Segs arms and whispered, “Sorry, Tyler. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it-“

“I know, Kenny. I know,” Tyler sighed into his hair, “Go shower. We’ll talk after we eat.” 

_/_/_/

The shower seemed to help further ease the tension Kent had helped clear up the foul mood he had been in. Segs made a surprisingly good breakfast, given their current lack of eggs and other fresh food. 

Segs rattled off a list of food they were going to need as Kent mechanically washed the dishes and cleaned the counters. The whole scened struck Kent as oddly domestic, and he idly wondered if this was something that he could have all the time. 

A pang of guilt lanced through him as he watched Segs walk out of the bedroom and flop onto the couch in his boxers. He wasn’t providing much in the way of this friendship, taking and taking and hurting. Segs didn’t deserve that. 

Kent sat on the other end of the sofa, curling in on himself. Segs opened his arms, inviting Kent to lay with him. 

“Are you sure?” Kent asked, voice small, “I, uh, don’t want anyone to-

“To what? Like people haven’t already assumed? Whatever we are, it’s an open secret to anyone who’s met us. Now come here.”

“I just…. You shouldn’t want me to be near you right now,” Kent whispered, huddling farther into the couch.

Segs sat up, staring at Kent for a second before saying, “Kenny, don’t get me wrong, you go straight to the jugular when you’re trying to get your way, but I’m not going to punish you for it.”

“You should.”

There was a pause, and Kent wondered if he had finally proved to Segs that he was too much for one person. 

Segs crawled his way over to Kent, tucking his legs beneath him and cupping Kent’s face. “Look, Kenny, I’m not…. I’m not….your mom or Zimmerman. I’m not going to like, ice you out because you said some fucked up shit to me. What you said wasn't okay, and you know that."

Kent hung his head, whispering, “I’m, uh, sorry. I am. I...just…. I’m so fucking exhausted, Ty. It's like.... nothings mine; everything feels like I am reacting to it. “

“I know,” Segs replied easily, and guilt flooded through Kent. Segs should be angry with him, should want to hit him and yell at him for reopening old wounds and insecurities. Kent opened his mouth to say as much, but Segs pulled Kent into his lap and carded his hand through Kent’s hair as if responding to whatever was going through Kent’s head. 

“I don’t deserve this,” Kent whispered as he closed his eyes, body feeling content but drained like he was a sodden rag doll left to dry out in the sun.

“Kenny, you are one of the strongest, most loving people I know. It doesn’t feel like it now, but you are. What you don’t deserve is this shit show that’s happened this week. But I got you.” 

Segs kept talking, and Kent drifted off into the first restful sleep he had in the week since the Stanley Cup finals, grateful he hadn’t chased Tyler off. 

_/ _/ _/

Afternoon slowly drifted toward the evening, and the NHL awards loomed closer. Throughout the day, Kent had tried everything in his power to not attend. His excuses became more pathetic as the day went on. Segs having figured out that this was what had prompted that morning's outburst, had quietly made phone calls to ensure that their suits were discretely delivered to the apartment. 

As they were delivered to the door, Kent visibly drooped from his spot on the couch, tendrils of dread curling in his stomach as Segs hung the suits in the closet. 

Kent resigned himself to practicing his media smile, attempting to muster the appropriate excitement for the event. Segs meandered into the living room and gave Kent a once over. Sensing that Kent's mood was about to sour, he gripped Kent by the arm, solemnly tugging him to his balcony. 

Kent shielded his eyes as Segs threw his arm around Kent’s shoulders and swept his hand toward the city. “Remember, son, all that glitters over the horizon is yours,” he intoned gruffly. 

“You are not Mufasa, and I can’t see shit,” Kent grumbled, pulling away from Segs and lightly shoving him. 

“Ah, that is where you are wrong. I am the tiger-

“Mufasa was a lion,” Kent interrupted, quirking a judgemental eyebrow at him. 

Segs waved his hand in dismissal, “Siegfried and Roy had tigers, the point stands. I am the wise tiger in this situation. You have to listen to me as I dispense words of value to you.”

“I listen to literally nothing you say,” Kent retorted as he stared out into the Vegas horizon, bright against the cracking dirt. Sweat started to bead on the back of Kent’s neck, “You once thought riding a tractor to a bar for takeout was a good idea.”

“One, I was drunk, two, we were in Texas, and three, no one got arrested, and it didn’t end up on the web, which automatically makes it a success.”

“It wasn’t your worst idea,” Kent conceded, making his way back inside where the blissfully cold air awaited him. “C’mon, I’m going to own you at Mario Cart with Princess Peach.”

Segs scoffed as he hip-checked Kent out of the way. “Fuck you, man. Yoshi is where it’s at.”

Kent scrambled to the slider door, and there was a brief scuffle of limbs until Kent managed to stick Segs in the ribs with his elbow. Kent squeezed through the door, victorious. He sprinted to the living room, belatedly thinking that his downstairs neighbors probably hated him, as he snagged a controller. He flopped onto the couch, startling Kit, who leaped in the air and scampered off. 

“I’m calling Yoshi!” Kent shouted as Segs skid into the living room and snagged the other controller.   
_/ _/ _/

Several hours later found Segs and Kent’s lazily lounged against each other on the couch in their boxers. Clothes had become optional sometime after Kent had spilled a drink on himself and was too lazy to clean it up. 

Segs had gladly rid himself of his “leg jails." He flicked some ghost hunter show on, exuberantly explaining to Kent every respectable hockey player should believe in the power of the supernatural. Kent raised an eyebrow at Segs’ increasingly passionate rant about why the supernatural did exist, smirking as Segs took that as a challenge to explain himself more. Kent felt at ease for the first time in a week and finally felt like he was starting to find stable footing. 

“You expectin’ anyone,” Segs asked, cutting himself as a knock interrupted him mid-explanation of Katrina, his mansion ghost. “We didn’t actually order food, did we?”

Annoyed, Kent shook his head, gesturing to his shorts and calling superiorly, “You mocked me for the door pants. This is why they are an important feature in my home, Tyler. You never know when you’ll need them.”

Segs rolled his eyes and muttered something that suspiciously sounded like “trashy." Kent decidedly ignored the comment as he pulled the door open. Kent stopped short, mouth dry as his brain disconnected from anything he was about to say. A strangled hello fell from his mouth as Jack Zimmerman hunched in his door frame. 

“Euh, hi, Kenny,” Jack said, voice soft as he rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. 

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Kent demanded, body tensing as he leaned into the door a little bit more than necessary. 

The easy-going contentment and safety he had felt moments before, seeped out of him. The wave of frustration and anger crashed into him, throwing him off balance. Kent braced himself, knuckles whitening as he clutched the door jam. He heard Segs move from the living room to stand behind him, arms crossed over his bare chest, mouth already downturned into a scowl. Any softness from the story he had been telling earlier disappeared into hard edges as he glowered at Zimmerman. 

“I, euh, the awards show is in a few days, and Bittle and I came out early. I… you haven’t been returning mine or Papa’s calls…. and I was worried,” Jack stammered, shoving his hands in his pockets. His eyes skittered over Kent and Segs until he found a spot on the argyle patterned floor to hold his attention. 

Kent’s heart thrummed in his chest, Jack’s little non-sensical speech, somehow making perfect sense to him. He wanted nothing more than to scream at the man in front of him, hands itching to throw a punch. Kent inhaled slowly. He would not give in to that side of him. He would not let his mother’s corruption show up, and for once, the voice that often echoed in his head was silent. 

There was a time when Jack coming to his door would have meant everything to him, righted the decade of toxic blows they struck each other with. As Jack stood hunched over, saying words that Kent had rehearsed answers to with Grace time and time again, he couldn’t move past the lump in his throat. His fingers tightened around the doorknob, clenching his jaw shut to avoid lashing out. 

“Doesn’t sound like much of an apology to me,” Segs drawled, pressing a warm hand against the small of Kent’s back, deliberately unseen by Jack. Kent leaned into Segs, his back against Segs' upper body, steadying him as he needed it. Kent glanced down and stifled a snort. Segs was still in his boxers. 

Jack opened his mouth to retort, shoulders tensing, and Kent could see the words ready to strike. Kent bit his lip, unsure of what to say or do. The three men stared at another, waiting for one of them to deal the first blow. 

It was funny how this moment had once seemed so monumental. But as Kent opened his mouth to speak, Segs pressed against him, the constant reassurance and love that his friends and found family forced on him in the last week, he realized that for the first time in a long time, he felt complete. His worst fear had happened, and he was still standing. Kent never thought of himself as particularly strong, no matter how many times it was said to him. Yet, as he stared at the man that he had once loved and protected so fiercely, Kent mustered strength he didn't know was in him. 

“Save it, Zimms,” Kent sneered, voice measured and steady, but the words contained the barbs meant to hook beneath the skin. He was done with taking the blame for things that were not his. “Are you here to apologize because you mean it or because you want something?”

Jack‘s face went stony, and he took a step forward, reaching for Kent, “Kenny-“

“No. You don’t get to call me that anymore. You lost that right years ago, and you know what, I’m tired of this. Everything is always about you, the great Jack Zimmerman. It’s always been about how to protect and ensure your health and happiness. But what about mine, Zimms? I was a kid, too, with a lot more to lose than you did. So you can take whatever apology you wanted to make, whatever words you were going to say and shove them up your ass,” Kent bit out.

Before Jack could respond, Kent slammed the door in his face, flipping the lock. His hand gripped the knob, knuckles turning white, and he could feel his chest tightening. The finality of the situation settled, and Segs was there, plastering his body around Kent’s. 

He guided him to the ground without a word. A few feeble knocks echoed and stopped. There was some shuffling on the other side of the door and a pause. Kent leaned against Segs, tears streaming down his face, when he heard a faint, "I'm sorry, Kenny," from Jack. 

Kent let out a deep guttural sob that shook his body to the core. All the emotions from the past week caught up with him, and he heaved them from his chest, hiccuping as the sobs kept coming. Segs stayed with him, holding him as he cried, whispering reassurances in Kent’s hair. 

The tightness dissolved slowly, feeling both wrung out and lighter than he had since the Cup Finals. It wasn’t the closure or the circumstances that he wanted, but it was what he needed. He made his amends for his mistakes and fears, paid for them with self-flagellation and unheard apologies. It was time to move from them and heal.


End file.
